


Rough Beast

by Cassiopeia_Kass



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, Guilt, Life with the Larvae, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Some suicidal thoughts, it's one fairly small section of graphic violence, trying to get rid of the larvae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-27
Updated: 2001-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiopeia_Kass/pseuds/Cassiopeia_Kass
Summary: The crew tries to deal with the fallout from their experience with the Magog worldship.
Relationships: Seamus Harper/Dylan Hunt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Rough Beast

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for "An Affirming Flame," "It Makes a Lovely Light," "Its Hour Come ‘Round at Last," "The Widening Gyre," and "Exit Strategies."
> 
> (This is [Viridian5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5) posting for Cassiopeia, a friend of mine who's long gone out of fandom but left me as a kind of caretaker of her _Andromeda_ fics. They've been linked at my personal site for a very long time but I wanted to share them with the fandom more.)

Twenty-one days since they’d fled from the Magog world ship. Twenty-one days since they’d survived, however improbably, a nova. A little more than twenty-one days since Harper had been infested with Magog spawn, and a little less since Harper had been apprised that the damned things were still inside him.

Unable to sleep, Dylan moved through the ship, toward the obs deck, hesitated as he saw that someone was already there, staring out into space.

Harper.

Beka had told him not to discuss the fact that the larvae were still inside Harper. She’d emerged from med-deck with red-rimmed eyes and her mouth flattened into a thin line. "Leave him alone," she’d said, and, "I’m warning you, Dylan, don’t talk to him about it."

So he hadn’t. 

He’d reasoned that Beka knew Harper better than he did, but he’d watched closely. Carefully.

He’d been careful to touch Harper a lot during the course of the last twenty-one days and watched carefully not to make Harper flinch when he did it. He’d pretended to himself that he didn’t mind that Harper occasionally lost track of what was being said to him, or forgot what he himself was saying. He’d tried not to mind that Harper seemed more comfortable and comforted by Tyr than with him, that Harper talked to Tyr more. He’d tried to pretend that he didn’t notice that Harper wasn’t sleeping, or that Harper was looking, even under the layers of clothing, visibly thinner.

Dylan was tired of not minding and pretending, and dammit, Beka was wrong. So he went over and sat down next to Harper and looked out into space.

At length, Harper sighed. "What do you think happens when we die?"

The question made his stomach knot, but he gave it serious consideration. Harper deserved that from him. "I don’t know," he finally admitted. "My father believed in the Wheel of Rebirth, and my mother believed that, ah, that this life is like a chrysalis and when we die, we shed that chrysalis and move on to another plane of existence. In my better moments, I believe that we do go on as energy or maybe some kind of quantum form."

Harper nodded thoughtfully without looking at him. "And in your worse moments?"

Dylan put his hands on his knees, stared at his fingers for a moment. "In my worse moments, I have to wonder if we don’t just go out, like a snuffed candle."

"That’s what I think." Harper was somber.

It made Dylan’s stomach worse. He put a careful hand on Harper’s shoulder, clasped it.

At least Harper didn’t flinch.

"It’s weird," Harper continued, still looking through the obs port. "I’m not really afraid of death. I’m afraid of dying. You know, starving or bleeding or being in pain. That’s the part that’s always scared me, that’s kept me from just giving up. I never really thought much about what happens after."

Dylan left his hand where it was. "I think that’s probably true of most of us." 

They sat in silence for a little while.

Harper looked at him then. "If the drug starts to fail, Dylan, I’m not waiting around. Just so you know. Beka doesn’t want to hear it, but I figure you can deal."

Could he? "Harper--" he began.

Harper’s expression was fierce; Harper shook his head. "No, Dylan. I’ll be dead anyway, but at least it will be on my own terms."

Dylan’s throat ached badly. He nodded after a moment, even though his agreement was a lie. "If it comes to that," he said hoarsely, "I swear, I’ll make sure it’s quick and painless and I won’t let Beka stop you." That was almost too great a lie to bear; he moved his hand, put an arm around Harper’s shoulder. "But it won’t come to that. I won’t allow it."

"Death and taxes," Harper said and sighed. "You can’t arm wrestle the angel of Death for me, Dylan."

Daylan shook at him gently. "I don’t believe in angels. Although lately, I’m tempted to believe in demons. Ever played Go?"

Harper gave him an odd look. "No."

"Would you like to learn?"

Harper blinked. Shrugged. "Why not?"

"Good. I need an opponent with a snaky mind." Dylan managed a genuine smile. 

Harper laughed a little. "I’m an innocent next to Tyr."

"I’ve played with Nietzscheans before," Dylan said drily. "I’d prefer not to do it again." He removed his arm from Harper’s shoulder.

Harper grinned and stood up. "What happens if I beat you?"

"I teach Trance instead."

It was the first time he’d heard Harper laugh in twenty-one days.

  


* * *

"You shouldn’t be drinking." Rommie folded her arms and frowned at Harper. 

Easy for Rommie to say, Harper thought; it took liquid courage to face up to the fact that drug or not, there were.... things living inside him. Not the ordinary garden-variety things that lived inside human beings, oh, no, Seamus Zelazny Harper had hit the jackpot. He got a batch of little Magog spawn. Harper peered at her in the dimness of med-deck. "Look, Rommie, there they are, aren’t they cute? Think Rev will adopt them once I’m dead?" He pointed at the med-scanner display and nearly fell off the examination table. 

Rommie’s frown didn’t dissipate. "You shouldn’t be drinking. We’re trying to strengthen your immune system and alcohol compromises that effort."

He grimaced. "Hell, Rommie, what difference does it make. I’m counting my days anyway."

"You don’t know that. Trance and I are working hard to find a way--"

"Oh, fuck that, Rommie. In the heyday of the Commonwealth, you guys hadn’t figured out a good way that wouldn’t kill a weakling kludge like me, so fuck that. You really think you’re going to figure out a way to do it now? Under the gun." He swayed again, caught himself. "‘Course if ya do, think of the market for it. Especially with that thing moving closer and closer."

The door to med-deck opened. Fuck, Dylan was here. Out of uniform. T-shirt and what looked like pajama bottoms. "You told Dylan," Harper accused.

She looked prim. 

Dylan looked rumpled and drowsy and worried, all at the same time. "You shouldn’t be drinking," he told Harper gently.

Harper sighed and threw himself back on the table. "See, there’s the little devils. Maybe you oughtta keep ‘em around, let Rev play daddy."

Dylan winced. "Rommie?"

"Coming up," she said and went to a medical cabinet.

Harper peered owlishly up at Dylan, who rested his hands on the table and looked back down at him. "Gonna spoil my party, huh?

Dylan sighed. "Well, the alcoholic part of it anyway. Couldn’t sleep, huh?"

Harper blinked. "I know Trance says it’s impossible, but I swear, I can feel them wriggling."

Another wince, and Dylan put a hand on Harper’s forehead. "Your imagination is playing tricks on you."

Dylan’s hand was warm and dry and felt weirdly nice. "Yeah, I guess. But it’s creepy anyway."

Rommie returned with an injector, and it was cold against Harper’s neck. The hiss made him jump, even though he was expecting it, and Dylan’s hand stayed where it was, stroking his hair, which helped his pulse slow again. "Come on, Harper, that’s going to take a while. I’ve got some good vids you can watch while you don’t sleep." 

Harper blinked again. "You were sleeping," he pointed out. "Don’t wanna keep you up."

"I wasn’t sleeping, I was trying to sleep." Dylan smiled faintly. "If I’m going to not sleep, at least I’ll do it in good company." He stopped stroking Harper’s hair, slid his arm beneath Harper’s shoulder and levered him up.

Harper steadied himself, swung his legs over the edge of the table. "Yeah? Who says I’m good company?"

"You generally are. I figure that while we’re waiting for the anti-intoxicant to take effect, you’ll be entertaining, anyway." Dylan’s expression took any sting from the comment. "Maybe we should play Go instead."

"Hah." Harper slid off the table, swayed for a minute. "Just because I won last time."

Dylan chuckled, steered him toward the door. "I told you, I’m going to teach Trance to play."

For some reason, Harper reflected, with the loopy clarity of a drunk, he’d gone from feeling rock bottom ready to eat his own gun to laughing like hell at the thought of Trance trying to figure out _why_ Dylan wanted to play Go. They arrived at Dylan’s quarters somehow, although he had no memory of how, and he was sitting on the foot of the bed while Dylan brought up the viewscreen and let him peer at vid titles.

"That one," he said finally, just to choose, because he was a little too drunk to read.

Dylan’s mouth twitched, but he nodded, pressed the select button on his remote. 

Harper stared at the screen for a while and then looked around to find Dylan standing beside him with a cup of something hot. "Coffee?"

"No, you don’t need that much caffeine on top of booze and anti-intoxicant." Dylan smiled. "Just some hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate," Harper marveled. " _You_ have hot chocolate?"

"I love hot chocolate." Dylan was holding a cup of his own, raised it in a mock toast. "Get comfortable, Harper. You don’t have to sit at attention just because you’re in my quarters."

"I better stay upright until I finish this," Harper told him and sipped cautiously. Rich and creamy and for once, when he took a sip of something that wasn’t whiskey, it liked his stomach and his stomach liked it. 

Dylan handed him a pillow. "Okay, when you get done, get comfortable."

Harper goggled at him. "On _your_ bed. Isn’t that like total insubordination or something?"

"Only if I tell you _not_ to get comfortable." Dylan made himself comfortable against his headboard, took a sip of his own. "Hmmm, there’s a lesson in reverse psychology there. Harper, do not under any circumstances get comfortable."

Harper snickered. "Okay." He kicked off his boots and pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged. The hot chocolate eased the annoyance of sobering up long before he wanted to; he could feel the edges of his buzz softening, but Dylan was good company, at least lately. "So, did Beka put you up to, um, being nice to me?"

Dylan frowned at him. "What the _hell_ does that mean?"

Oh, fuck, he’d ruined it. "Sorry." He studied the cup. 

Dylan’s foot nudged his hip. "Am I that much of an ogre?"

Harper looked up, blinked. "‘S not that. We just don’t usually spend a lot of time hanging out when we’re not on duty."

"That’s not entirely true," Dylan said, the frown easing. "It was at first--hell, you were strangers to me, I was a stranger to you--I’ll admit, yeah, I’m concerned about you, Harper. The only thing Beka’s done is tell me not to talk to you about it."

Harper frowned. "Why?"

Dylan shrugged. "How in hell do I know? I figure Beka knows you better than I do, the two of you are practically family, so she has her reasons."

It made Harper mad and sad at the same time. "I don’t need protection from this. Even if it wasn’t too late, it’s my _life_ , Dylan."

"I know." Dylan’s gaze was steady. "But as I said, Beka knows you better than I do, I was trying to respect that."

They sat in a silence that was almost comfortable, at least until Harper had finished his chocolate. 

"Put it on the floor," Dylan told him, when he looked around to figure out what to do with the empty cup. "And do not get comfortable."

Harper grinned and stretched out, tucked the pillow under his head. "Okay, I won’t." But in spite of that assurance, he did.

  


* * *

Dylan woke at the first sound. He was still propped up against his pillows, and Harper was still lying at the foot of his bed, still draped in the blanket Dylan had dropped over him once exhaustion had finally held sway. It took Dylan a moment to realize just _why_ Harper was lying at the foot of his bed and why he had a sore neck from sleeping propped up, but Harper rolled onto his back, gasping and groaning and tugging at the hem of his shirt.

Disoriented and still more asleep than awake, Dylan managed to get to Harper, put his hand on Harper’s stomach. "Easy, easy, Harper, you’re just dreaming, you’re okay." 

Harper gasped again, shuddered. "...things are _moving_."

"No." He found he was, god help him, rubbing his palm over Harper’s bare stomach. "No, there’s nothing moving, Harper, you’re dreaming."

Harper took in a ragged breath, shivered. "Dreaming," he whispered. "Yeah, okay, I’m good, I’m good."

His hand kept rubbing Harper’s stomach. "You’re okay," he repeated and glanced at the chron. Six hours, they’d both slept six hours. That was the longest period of uninterrupted sleep that _he’d_ had in thirty-two days, since they’d fled from the Magog world ship. Thirty-two days since they’d survived, however improbably, a nova. A little more than thirty-two days since Harper had been infested with Magog spawn, and a little less since Harper had been apprised that the damned things were still inside him.

It was probably the most uninterrupted sleep Harper had enjoyed, too.

"I guess I went to sleep." Harper leaned up on one elbow and regarded Dylan’s hand owlishly. "Sorry."

Dylan yanked his hand back. "Don’t be. You needed it, I needed it, this is the most sleep I’ve gotten since--" He shrugged.

Harper pushed himself upright and looked at the chron. "Wow, yeah." He blinked and gave Dylan a wan smile. "Me, too."

Gathering his scattered wits, Dylan nodded. "Coffee?"

Another blink. "Um, yeah, coffee’s good."

Dylan got off the bed. "Um," he said, feeling beyond awkward. "You can shower if you want."

Harper’s expression was mildly surprised. "Oh. I don’t have any clean clothes here."

Waving vaguely, Dylan said, "I’ll have Rommie send a ‘bot, if you want. I’m just going to, ah, make some coffee."

"Okay." Harper edged off the bed. "Um, a shower sounds good. You sure you don’t mind?"

"Go on, Harper." Dylan escaped to the other side of his quarters. What in the hell was wrong with him, rubbing Harper’s belly like he was a cat? He could argue that he was only being reassuring except that he hadn’t stopped, and even upset, Harper had noticed.

It was mortifying not to be in control of his own impulses. And oddly satisfying at the same time.

Coffee, he told himself firmly. And maybe something to eat. At least he could make sure Harper ate.

He was the captain, after all, and he had a responsibility to his crewmembers.

Right.

And _that_ was why he’d been rubbing Harper’s belly.

Riiiiiiiight.

  


* * *

It was weird showering in Dylan’s quarters, and weirder yet to get out and find clean clothes waiting for him. The height of weirdness was Dylan rubbing his stomach or Dylan feeding him breakfast, or the fact that he hadn’t freaked out when Dylan had rubbed his stomach.

Or that Dylan had given him hot chocolate the night before.

Or maybe even that through all of the above, Dylan had acted totally matter of fact. Had acted matter of fact _after_ , and even now was working on the navigation console not far from Harper.

"So," Dylan said mildly, looking up from the diagnostic he was running. "Any progress?"

Harper replaced the board in the arms console and nodded. "Working again. But we’re starting to get low on parts." Apologetically. "Some things I can’t scavenge from unused areas."

Dylan nodded. "I know. We’ll--we’ll cross that particular bridge when we get to Seneschal."

Beka popped up from underneath the comm console. "Yeah, and we contact the Than and the Perseids and all our other little fledgling members for the cash to get it." She moved past Harper and put a hand out, but Harper twitched away without really intending to. Her expression went stricken.

"S-sorry," he muttered and turned away from it. He wasn’t trying to be an asshole, he wasn’t, but Beka made him twitch. He could _see_ her horror of what was happening in everything she did and said to him, and he couldn’t stand it.

Tyr was just pissed and determined to keep him from giving up; Dylan was matter of fact. Rev and Trance--he wasn’t sure how to define their behavior, but it didn’t make him as twitchy as Beka did.

"Exactly," Dylan told Beka. "But I’ve already sent those messages. I expect to hear either strident denials or concerned offers any day now."

Harper nodded absently, made an adjustment to the controls and nodded again. "There, that’s done. I’m heading down the machine shop and get some parts, but I’ll be back."

Beka was still looking at him unhappily; she nodded, not quite looking at him. Dylan nodded, too, but there was something in his eyes that made Harper’s throat ache a little. Dylan understood. How the _hell_ had that happened?

He took off fast, mostly to keep from thinking about that. 

When he got back to command deck, Dylan was the only one there, still working. Dylan might not have been trained as an engineer, but he was as good as Tyr as filling in. Better yet, he didn’t seem to feel the need to exhort Harper about hope and survival. He appreciated those exhortations sometimes, when he needed them, but it was getting a little old, day after day.

"You okay?" Dylan looked up, arched an eyebrow.

He felt his face get hot. "Yeah. I just...." He shrugged. "She doesn’t, um, get that it bothers me."

Dylan nodded, looked back at what he was doing. "She’s worried. Not that it makes it easier for you." Mild tone. "Want me to talk to her?"

Harper blinked. "She’d deck you."

Dylan grinned, looked back at him. "Probably. But if it helps, I’ll take that chance. Besides, I’m quick."

And just like that, Harper found himself snickering. "Well, sure. If you can. It’s not that I’m mad at her, it’s just--" He gave Dylan a helpless look. "I can’t deal."

"You’ve got enough to deal with," Dylan said, turning back to his work. "I’ll have a word with her. Tactfully."

"Thanks." Relieved, Harper crawled through the accessway to the engines. Once there, he couldn’t help but consider the fact that Dylan seemed to get it, Dylan understood.

And not just him. Dylan understood about Beka’s feelings, too. 

It made him wonder for a moment how Dylan felt about all of this shit, but if he went there, he was really going to depress himself. He was worried enough about himself. And Beka. 

Thinking about _that_ was going to depress him, too.

So instead, he focused on work.

  


* * *

"Beka, it’s not you. I think--I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it may be related to the fact that he thinks he can feel them moving." Dylan pushed the glass with the amber liquid in it toward Beka. "Here, drink. Consider it medicinal."

"He doesn’t want to be touched because he can feel them moving?" Beka’s expression was... haunted, to say the least. "God, Dylan. What are we going to do? Would putting him in stasis give us more time?"

"Maybe. I’ll talk to Rommie. If the drug’s effectiveness starts to fade, that’s an option. Nobody’s going to give up on him, Beka." Dylan took a swallow of Scotch, rotated the glass to watch it swirl. "He’s losing weight, too. And not sleeping. Rommie doesn’t want to give him anything to sleep, she’s worried about drug interactions."

Beka stared at him. "How do you _know_ these things?" Bitterly. "I’ve known him for years, you’ve known him, what, one year? He’s not letting me see anything."

"Maybe because you’re too close. You’re family." Dylan set the glass down, rubbed the spot between his eyebrows and pinched the bridge of his nose. "He’s worried about your feelings and it’s hard to deal with yours and his own."

Beka snorted, took a little swallow of her drink and grimaced. "I thought Rev was the one who counseled people."

"I didn’t make captain on my looks." He gave her a long look. "Beka, just try and treat him as normally as possible. That’s my advice. He needs to have some space to forget during the day, and if you treat him as a victim or as if you’re waiting for him to die, it’s a constant reminder."

"Drop dead, Dylan." Her mouth thinned out and she took two steps toward the Commonwealth emblem on the wall. "Is it worth it?"

"There isn’t any choice now." Dylan stared into his glass again. "We don’t have any choice, none of us. None of the worlds." His head was starting to ache. 

Beka turned back to face him. "Do you know that he’s blaming himself for all this? Because of that backup."

Dylan winced. "No, of course I didn’t know. You told me not to discuss it with him." Sharply, and he felt his temper flare. "What the _hell_ was that about, Beka?"

Beka looked stricken. "I didn’t want you to upset him. I was afraid you were going to talk about how it all got started to him, and he wasn’t up to that, he didn’t need any more guilt."

The unfairness of it nearly took his breath away. "You thought I’d go in there and give him a fucking reprimand right after he’s discovered he’s still infested? You think I’m that kind of a monster?" He was so angry suddenly, and the only thing that shut his mouth was that Beka was near tears. "God." He pushed the glass away. "I’m going to bed. Get some rest, Beka. And just... just try and treat him like he’s still alive." Maybe _that_ wasn’t totally fair either, but he was tired and undone and, by god, still worried about Harper. "Good night," he added and left before the rest of his temper blew free.

He didn’t go to bed, though he did go to his quarters. Instead, he began doing research; it was unlikely that he was going to come to any discovery before Trance or Rommie did, but at least it felt like he was doing something.

Especially since he had to follow his own damned advice and treat Harper normally instead of hovering.

He was just taking his boots off when Rommie’s holo appeared. "Dylan, you asked me to monitor, ah, Harper’s behavior and alert you if it became atypical."

Dylan straightened. "And?"

"It’s difficult to tell, but I believe that it has."

He’d once cautioned Rommie on invasion of privacy; asking her to monitor Harper broke his own rules, but he’d salved his conscience by remembering that Harper’s state of mind fluctuated from day to day. "And?" A little impatiently. "Atypical how? Is he a danger to himself."

Rommie’s expression was... tentative. "I believe that he’s, ah, recording a will, Dylan. On the Maru."

Dylan’s heart rate promptly spiked. "Any weapons near to hand? Any sign that he’s considering suicide?"

"Nothing overt." 

Damn. Of course, overt or not, Seamus Harper had enough technical knowledge to do himself in fairly quickly and without warning, and that thought was enough to let Dylan decide. "Rommie, put me through."

"Are you sure, Dylan?"

"I’m sure. Don’t tell him you’ve spoken to me, just put me through. Would it hurt him to have a beer?"

"Alcohol is a depressant," Rommie said primly. "But one is unlikely to compromise his health."

"Good."

A moment, and then Harper’s voice came through on Dylan’s comm. "Rommie says you wanted to talk to me?"

Dylan cleared his throat. "Actually, I was just wondering if you were busy, or if you’d be up for a game tonight."

There was a brief silence. "Sure, I guess." 

Was he imagining the reluctance? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it was just guilt over having Rommie watch Harper every moment of every day. "Great, I’ll buy you a beer."

"Yeah? Okay, give me a minute." 

Relieved, Dylan checked to make sure he actually _had_ beer in his quarters, and then changed into casual clothes. Harper arrived a few moments later, his expression unreadable.

Dylan handed him a cold bottle of beer. Harper looked at it, sighed. "I’m not supposed to drink, am I?"

"Whiskey, no. I did check with Rommie about the beer." Dylan grimaced. "Too, ah, intrusive?" If Harper only knew, he thought distantly.

That got a faint grin. "Getting medical advice about me on the sly. Nah, I can live with it. At least you aren’t in my face every hour asking me if I took my medication."

"Trance?"

"And Rev and Tyr and Beka." Long suffering look. 

Dylan considered. "You up for a game? We could just give the vid thing another try. You slept through most of it last night."

Harper opened the bottle, took a swallow. "I look that bad?"

"You look tired, that’s all," Dylan told him honestly. "We got a lot done today--you don’t have to indulge my competitive streak just to play nice, Harper."

That got a genuine grin. "Well, in that case--you got any popcorn?"

Dylan grinned back. "As a matter of fact, I just might have some. Remote’s on the table next to my bed; I’ll see what I can come up with."

Harper nodded, moved hesitantly past the divider. "Or we could watch something else."

Ah, yes, popcorn, Dylan saw and pulled out the packet, put it into the ‘wave. "Knock yourself out. Figuratively."

Harper snickered. "Is that more reverse psychology?"

Dylan turned, saw Harper standing near the foot of his bed, remote in hand. Grinned. "Whatever you do, do not enjoy that beer, and, for God’s sake, don’t get comfortable."

Delight lifted some of the weariness from Harper’s stance. "Whoa, you’re playing hard ball tonight, Boss."

"I have to keep my edge." Dylan opened a cupboard, found a bowl for the popcorn. "I can’t rely on military protocol with _this_ crew." 

Harper laughed softly. "Suppose not."

The popping slowed; the ‘wave chimed and Dylan juggled the package out, ripped it open and poured the popcorn out. 

Harper was perched uncomfortably at the foot of Dylan’s bed, watching the menu scroll on the screen. Well, Harper wasn’t drunk tonight, he probably _was_ slightly uncomfortable, Dylan reckoned, and arched an eyebrow when Harper looked at him. "Reverse psych doesn’t appear to be working, you look uncomfortable,"

Harper flushed, grinned crookedly. "Well, it just feels a little weird."

Dylan chuckled. "I don’t have anything more comfortable to lounge on on this side of the wall. It doesn’t feel that weird to me, but you have my orders."

Another glint of delight. "Not to make myself comfortable. Yeah, I get it." Harper scooted back, drew his legs up to sit cross-legged.

Pleased, Dylan put the popcorn between them, took a swallow of his own beer and _did_ lounge, hooting at a few of Harper’s choices, shrugging at others, and then nodding approval when Harper found a very old one that they both liked. 

Sober, Harper proved to be a very interactive audience, jeering at the bad guys, hooting at the naivete of the protagonists, and finally slumping back comfortably on the pillows Dylan shoved at him. "I’ve never seen the whole thing, just bits and pieces," he told Dylan happily. "This is better."

Dylan smiled lazily. "Usually. And this time. Sometimes, you’re better off with the bits and pieces." His hand seemed to move of its own volition again; he ruffled Harper’s hair lightly. "Are you sleeping any better these days?"

Harper just looked at him. 

He wished he hadn’t asked. "Stupid question, forget I asked it." Regretfully. But he left his hand where it was.

"Don’t feel sorry for me," Harper said quietly. "I mean, if you want me around, that’s cool, but don’t do this because you feel sorry for me."

It stung. "I don’t feel sorry for you. I feel--" What _did_ he feel, beyond guilt and horror? Fear for Harper, fear that time was going to run out, sorrow, anger that he hadn’t been able to keep his crew safe, all of that and more, and none of it was pity. "I’m angry. I’m so damned angry, Harper, I can’t tell you. I’m angry at myself, angry at my superiors for leaving the equivalent of a nova bomb lying around in Rommie’s system, I’m angry that Admiral Stark never told me it was there, never told me what had happened to Andromeda before I took command. I’m angry that I sent you and Tyr off to be attacked and infested. I’m angry that we don’t have a magic cure for this and that you’ve got to live with it until we can come up with some goddamn thing to get them out of you. I’m afraid, too. I’m afraid it will break you, and, dammit, you survived everything else, I can’t let that happen. And because I’m selfish, I hate it that Tyr can do more to encourage you to hang on then I can. I hate it that a Nietzschean can help you more than I can after everything you saw growing up." He caught his breath, wished vainly to call the words back.

Harper didn’t look upset, though, Harper just looked surprised. Unflatteringly surprised.

Dylan took in another breath, lowered his voice. "And, to be honest, because I’m the sorry bastard who recruited all of you, I feel guilty about that."

Harper actually smiled at him. "You would," he said, almost affectionately. "I bet that comet strike last year was your fault, too."

"Of course," Dylan said promptly. "I’m sure it was."

Harper’s smile dimmed. "If it was anybody’s fault, Dylan, it was mine. I’m the one who opened that backup."

"Which was good standard operating procedure," Dylan said flatly. "And if I’d been informed of the existence of the goddamned thing, it wouldn’t have happened. You would have known."

Harper reached back, almost tentatively, touched Dylan’s arm. "Maybe. Maybe not. You know I have a habit of wanting to know what’s inside packages."

Dylan’s stomach did a lazy roll, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was... exhilarating. Harper’s hair was surprisingly soft under his fingertips. God, he was petting Harper’s hair and Harper hadn’t pulled away. His throat tightened. "Stay," he said quietly. "You slept well here the other night."

A long look. "Okay." Simply.

It eased his mind and his heart, and even if this was probably one of the most lunatic things he’d done in his long career, he found he didn’t give a damn. He’d nearly died, Harper was nearly dying, so to hell with wisdom and protocol. "I slept better, too."

Harper turned his head into Dylan’s touch. "That feels good." Faintly.

After a moment, Dylan sighed. "But not in our clothes tonight." Harper blinked as Dylan got up. "I figure they’ll be a lot too long, but I’ve got some extra pajamas." What the _hell_ was he talking about? Oh, yeah, he was trying to avoid taking advantage of Harper’s current emotional state. He found the pajamas, sat down on the edge of the bed. Swallowed hard. "Hey."

Harper blinked again, sat up. "Dylan," he said huskily, "Is this a good idea?"

"Probably not," Dylan said softly and held out a hand. "Come here?"

Audible swallow. "What if they, you know. Move."

Dylan considered the best answer. "Then I’ll drag you to med-deck without taking a deep breath."

Harper’s expression went thoughtful. "Think it would do any good?"

"If I have to put you in stasis, Harper, you are going to survive this." Fiercely. 

Apparently deciding, Harper knee-walked over to him. "Can I hold you to that?"

"I hope you will." He touched Harper’s face, gently rubbed the side of Harper’s head. Harper regarded him cautiously--no, not cautiously, but with a diffidence that made Dylan’s throat ache again. Carefully, very carefully, he leaned in, pulled Harper closer, then into his lap. 

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Faintly.

"I’m not sure of anything," Dylan murmured, "But I like it. You?" He slid his hands up under the back of Harper’s shirt, just above the waistband of Harper’s pants; it wasn’t too pushy, just his palms against bare, silky skin, and there was still space between them, at least a hand’s breadth. "We can always back this up if you don’t."

"I’m not insane," Harper said shakily and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Dylan’s. "Just--I’m just scared. I can’t stand the thought of them moving."

"They aren’t moving. They won’t move. And if they do, we’ve already decided on a response." He kept his voice low, rubbed small circles on Harper’s lower back. 

Ragged inhalation and Harper nodded fractionally. "Yeah. Okay. Okay."

He didn’t make any further move, just kept rubbing, soaking up Harper’s warmth and solidity and, god, the way it felt to hold someone close. To touch someone.

Harper lifted his head suddenly and kissed Dylan, warm dry lips, a little shakiness, and Dylan let his hands move up, tracing the line of Harper’s vertebrae. Another kiss, this one a little more intimate, and he let Harper take the lead, felt the tip of Harper’s tongue teasing his lips and let them part. Beer and popcorn, and that was fine, they both tasted of beer and popcorn, and Harper smelled good and felt good and, god, he was a reprehensible bastard. A reprehensible bastard who pulled Harper a little closer, welcoming the kiss, welcoming the touch....

Harper drew back, licked his lips. "So, um, would it be okay if we just slept tonight?" Shaky voice. 

"If that’s what you want," Dylan said softly. "We’re both tired."

Harper swallowed hard. "You don’t mind?"

"I don’t mind." Dylan smiled faintly, ruefully. "I thought I was doing well just to get you to sleep here. Anything else is icing on the cake, Harper."

That got a long look, and a longer kiss, sweet and luxurious. "Tomorrow?" Harper asked hopefully.

Dylan’s stomach did that roll again. "Oh, yeah." Softly.

And then Harper smiled, a smile Dylan had never seen on Harper’s face at any time during the last year. It turned his bones to water, undid all his best intentions, and followed him down into sleep.

He wanted Harper to smile like that a lot more often. And he intended to do whatever it took, starting first thing in the morning.

  


* * *

Harper woke from his regularly scheduled nightmare to hear Dylan murmuring in his ear.

"Easy," Dylan said softly, "Easy, just a dream."

Deep breath, and Harper tried to slow his pulse. Weirdly, Dylan’s hand on his stomach helped; Dylan’s warm body snugged up behind him helped a little more. "I’m good, I’m good." He shifted and Dylan did, and he was lying on his back with Dylan’s hand still stroking bare skin.

Dylan had left a light turned up in the bathroom, and he could see Dylan’s expression. "I’m good," he said again, trying to reassure. 

Dylan leaned up on one elbow, smiled a little. "Good."

Harper reached up, touched Dylan’s cheek. "Why now?"

Dylan’s hand moved in small circles, but Dylan didn’t pretend not to understand. "Terror. Epiphany. I don’t know."

"Terror," Harper muttered, "Oh, yeah." He shuddered, slid his hand to Dylan’s shoulder.

"The feeling’s been there a while," Dylan said softly and sighed. "I just didn’t admit it to myself until I realized that I was feeling an unworthy desire to shoot Tyr out an airlock purely because you’ve talked with him about everything that’s happened."

"Didn’t think you’d want to talk about it." Harper tugged at Dylan, pulled him down. Gentle kiss, and, hey, he might still be mildly unsettled about this, about being touched, but he kissed back, a little more seriously than he had earlier. Oh, yeah, that felt good, felt real and solid, and, damn, Dylan was a big guy. He slid one hand up under Dylan’s shirt, skating over the ridges of rib up to Dylan’s shoulder blade.

Dylan drew back. "Harper?"

Oh, definitely good, and his own body was actually behaving itself and reacting normally without any freaky input from his mind. He hooked a leg over one of Dylan’s and tugged again, and Dylan went with it, settled his hips between Harper’s thighs and oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, unless Dylan was packing a force lance in bed, he was definitely feeling enthusiastic about this.

And Dylan could kiss, Dylan’s mouth was sensational. And even though he knew Dylan only had two hands, those two hands were _big_ and seemed to be exploring under Harper’s shirt pretty thoroughly. Apparently Dylan wasn’t at all freaked out about the fact that he was carrying some interesting cargo, so he was damned if _he_ was going freak out. "Shirt," he muttered into Dylan’s mouth, "Lose the shirt."

Dylan was breathing a little hard. "Shirt," he agreed and rolled to one side to peel out of his t-shirt. Harper pushed himself up and tossed his own on the floor just before Dylan rolled back over him.

God. God. Dylan’s skin was hot, and the hair on his chest was silkier than Harper would have thought. Dylan’s mouth was hotter, traveling from Harper’s mouth and down the side of his throat. He put his fingers into Dylan’s hair, gasped when Dylan’s mouth found his left nipple. "God, Dylan--" 

"I’m only God on command deck," Dylan muttered and went back to what he was doing.

It took a beat for that to penetrate the haze of pleasure, and then Harper hooted, wrestled Dylan over on his back and started his own explorations.

Dylan didn’t seem to be displeased with that in the least, although he rocked up under Harper nicely. Putting a hand down on either side of Dylan’s head, Harper dove in for more kisses, pressed back down against the movement. Dylan was hard, he was hard, and why the hell hadn’t he gotten rid of the pajama bottoms? Hey, he could address that right this minute, he told himself and tugged at Dylan’s waistband. It took a minute for Dylan to get with the program; Dylan seemed intent on a similar goal and tugged at the pajama bottoms that were already pretty damn loose on Harper. Laughing again, Harper swatted Dylan’s hands away, but Dylan was in a take-no-prisoners sort of mood, and they ended up wrestling around on the bed while getting rid of the final obstacle to skin to skin contact. 

God, it was so good to feel normal, to have Dylan forget that he was damaged and make _him_ forget that he was damaged. Hungry kisses, and, whoa, Dylan had to have more than two hands the way those hands were working around his body, and he wasn’t complaining, definitely wasn’t complaining at all. He wrapped his legs around Dylan’s waist and rocked up hard, tilted his head to the side and gasped as Dylan’s tongue stroked the sensitive skin around his port. 

It was like he was a six-course meal and Dylan was starving to death. On the other hand, he was starving, too, suddenly, and Dylan’s cock was pressed against his own, both of them slick and hot, and oh, man, it had been long enough that he wasn’t going to last any too long, but maybe that was okay. Hell if it wasn’t, hard and fast and good and he put his hands back into Dylan’s hair and hauled Dylan’s mouth up to meet his own, and that was about it, he felt himself start to shake, felt his fucking toes curling and pulled away to say, "I want you to fuck me," in a hoarse voice that didn’t seem to belong to him.

Dylan shoved down hard against him and came with an incoherent cry, which tipped Harper over into serious pleasure blackout. He surfaced from that to more kissing and petting and Dylan was leaning up on his elbows, kissing and licking what he could reach and muttering something that was either incoherent or inaudible. Or both. Harper wasn’t sure and didn’t really care which of the three it might be; Dylan’s weight felt good, Dylan’s skin felt good, and even the slickness between them felt good. It probably would until it got sticky, but hell, even that was a sign of life.

Dylan bit his chin gently. "You did that on purpose, didn’t you?"

"Nope." Harper nipped back, licked his way into a satisfying kiss and back out again.

Dylan nuzzled his throat. "Mmmm, well, I’ll have to take care of that later. I’m more than three hundred years old, I need to rest up and regain my strength."

Harper smiled senselessly at the ceiling. "Later is still good."

That got him kissed again, on the mouth, on the jaw, on his eyelids. One pair of discarded pajama bottoms served as a quick cleanup and then Dylan pulled the blankets over both of them, pulled Harper close. 

Harper put his head on Dylan’s shoulder comfortably, felt Dylan’s fingers stroking his hair. "I’m dreaming this, right? Some weird after-effect of that medication on top of beer and popcorn." 

Dylan yawned. "We’ll find out in the morning. If you’re still wearing my pajama bottoms and your t-shirt, you’ll know it was a dream."

Harper smiled against Dylan’s throat. "Okay." He was fading fast, and wow, what a way to go to sleep. Way better than drugs, and considerably better than beer, that was for sure. He put a leg over Dylan’s, and Dylan shifted a little closer. "S’nice."

"Better than nice," Dylan murmured. "Sleep well, Seamus."

Seamus. Weird. Comfortable. And just like that, he crashed hard.

  


* * *

Thirty-six days since they’d fled from the Magog world ship. Thirty-six days since they’d survived a nova. A little more than thirty-six days since Harper had been infested with Magog spawn, and nearly four days since Dylan had thrown all his carefully practiced caution and protocol out an airlock and started a rather more intimate relationship with his chief engineer than they’d heretofore enjoyed.

Somehow, he thought he should regret it; somehow, he didn’t regret it at all. "Rommie, I understand that the larvae have both human and Magog DNA." Dylan rubbed his forehead and looked at the ship’s avatar. "But genetic therapy has been possible for nearly three hundred years. Why _can’t_ the nanobots be programmed to deliver a sort of reverse therapy, targeting the Magog DNA?"

"They react to nanobots very defensively," Rommie said patiently, but then her expression went thoughtful.

"Okay, then what about a viral delivery method?" Dylan paced. "That was the earliest used, and surprisingly successful."

Rommie was silent a moment. "Genetic therapy," she said thoughtfully. "That might very well work. We have the dead larvae removed from Tyr, it might be possible."

Dylan felt hope flare. "What would it take, Rommie?"

"Genetic analysis, and then a retrovirus that won’t put Harper’s immune system at further risk." Rommie considered. "Dylan, it’s not impossible for the larvae in Harper to have differences in their genetic code. We may have to take the chance of removing at least one."

"Let’s keep that in mind as a last resort," Dylan said flatly. "And Rommie, I’d rather you didn’t share this conversation with anyone but Trance. And caution her not to mention it to Harper at the moment. I’ve no intention of upsetting his equilibrium if this is a false hope."

"In theory, it should work."

"Ordinarily, I love putting theory into practice, but not at the expense of someone’s life." He could hear the edge in his voice. "Not at the expense of Harper’s life."

Rommie nodded. "We’ll get started right away." She hesitated. "Dylan, when you asked me to monitor Harper, you didn’t ask me to discuss any behavior I’d already observed."

He arched an eyebrow. Was she still concerned about his override of privacy protocols? "You told me he’d been upset enough to overlook the emergency with the reactor overload. That was enough of a reason to override protocols."

Rommie nodded. "Yes, precisely. But there was something that happened earlier, before he took up residence in the access tube. I haven’t been absolutely certain that this didn’t come under privacy protocols--betraying a confidence, if you will--but if Harper’s recording a will concerns you, I think you need know about this."

Why did he have the feeling he was going to be unhappy about this? "Tell me."

"It wasn’t completely dissimilar to what happened the other day; Harper had been drinking, and he was on med-deck with the scanner. Watching the larvae." Rommie folded her arms. "When I found him, he had a gun held to his abdomen."

Dylan went cold. "A gun."

Rommie nodded. "At first, he told me to go away. I’m not sure, Dylan, but I believe that Harper wanted to be dissuaded. At any rate, I eventually confiscated his weapon, and Trance came in and tried to calm him. That’s when he retreated to the access tube." She shook her head. "I couldn’t get him to attend to the reactor for some time, as I reported. And when I confronted him the last time, he said again that he wanted to die. Somehow, as I reported, I convinced him, and he worked very quickly." Her tone was reluctant.

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t guessed, so why did it feel as if he’d been struck a body blow? Turning, Dylan found his way to a chair, sat down. "Well," he said faintly. "This isn’t anything I hadn’t expected." Especially after discovering that Rommie had unwisely insisted that Harper assist with the disposal of Magog corpses. They’d already had that discussion, upon his return, prior to his face-off with Tyr. "Yes, this is definitely something you should have told me. But at least you’ve been monitoring him since then. Any indication of going for his weapon again?"

Rommie shifted, and her expression was... uncomfortable. "I’ve, ah, put everything in the weapons locker, and coded the locker to open only with certain authorizations."

Dylan nodded. "All right. Well. Where is Harper now?"

Rommie’s gaze went out of focus for a moment. "He’s on his way back from the engine room."

Dylan rubbed his forehead. Engine room days weren’t good days. Access tubes, in fact, were the only really good days, although Harper didn’t seem to mind the command deck a great deal. Hydroponics had been good, or at least moderately good; he and Harper had played a little one on one in basketball, and then a little one on one that started in the shower and moved to Dylan’s bed.

The thought of Harper preparing to shoot himself made his palms sweat. He was tired. Too tired to decide how to divide his concerns between the personal and professional. At this point, they were so firmly meshed that he couldn’t sort them out. This, he thought, was the downside of tossing his own rules, but it was too late to worry about that now. 

As if to prove that fact, Harper walked in, regarded them warily. "Bad time?"

"I was just leaving," Rommie said calmly. 

Dylan nodded at her, managed a smile for Harper. "You look tired."

Harper nodded vaguely. "I _am_ tired, and I stink. Going to take a quick shower."

God. He walked over to Harper, reached out and then Harper was up against him. The engine room, he thought and closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around Harper. Harper could _smell_ Magog all over the ship, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that Tyr agreed, he would have thought it was Harper’s imagination working overtime. "Want some company?"

Harper’s arms tightened. "Not this time." A shiver. "Just want to get their smell off me."

He rubbed Harper’s back. Took in a breath and let it out, letting some of the worry go along with it. Harper was doing better these days. He’d like to think he had something to do with it, and maybe he did, if for no other reason than he _did_ treat Harper like he was whole, like he was normal, like this was just another obstacle to work past. He had to, he had to believe that. "Okay. Think you could eat something after?"

Harper rubbed his cheek against Dylan’s shirt. "Yeah, maybe." Some of the tension in his muscles eased. "Some of that stew, that’s good."

Dylan rubbed _his_ face against Harper’s hair. "Sounds good to me." He released Harper slowly, smiled. "Quick shower?"

That got the ghost of a genuine smile. "The quickest. I’ve got clean clothes here, right?"

"You do." He leaned in, took a quick, light kiss. "Fresh from the laundry, in fact."

Harper’s smile took on more strength. "Sneakiness."

"Strategy," Dylan countered, laughing a little himself. "Shower. Stew, and then we’ll, ah, see what comes up."

Outright grin then, and Harper headed toward the bathroom.

Harper was going to survive; Dylan couldn’t allow any other outcome.

  


* * *

The shower helped. Coming out to find Dylan with his boots off and feet up on the divan helped a little more. It was so fucking _normal_ , not that he was used to hanging out in Dylan’s quarters. Not yet. Dylan seemed to be intent on getting him used to it, of course, and even if it felt like he’d stepped into a parallel universe, it felt good.

How lame was that, needy Seamus Harper eating up that attention? He really was beginning to think Beka wasn’t so far off when she called him a little psycho. 

Dylan’s smile took that thought back off his mind and getting tugged onto the divan didn’t hurt, either. "You smell good," Dylan muttered and rubbed his cheek against Harper’s hair.

"Jeez, I hope so." But he wriggled back into Dylan’s embrace happily, feeling the darkness retreat. He hated the places he’d once loved on this ship, hated being there, hated the flashbacks, hated the smell. Dylan shifted so that he was leaning against Dylan’s chest, lying between Dylan’s legs. Legs that went on for fucking ever. "What the hell did your parents feed you?" he asked, idly running his palms over Dylan’s knees.

Dylan chuckled. "They were both tall, too."

"Damn." Harper grinned, even though Dylan couldn’t see him; he could feel the vibration in Dylan’s chest when Dylan laughed. "Mine weren’t. Guess that explains it."

Dylan only laughed again, put one hand over one of Harper’s. "Hungry?"

Was he? He mostly didn’t have a lot of appetite, but Dylan didn’t like it when he didn’t eat. "Not yet," he temporized. "This feels good."

"Yeah?" Dylan sounded pleased. "Good. Feels good to me, too." His hand had migrated under Harper’s shirt, small circles on Harper’s belly.

It didn’t bother him, exactly, but it felt... morbid. "Are you totally fixated on my stomach?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

"Yes," Dylan said cheerfully. "Do you know that when you stretch, your shirts ride up and there’s this tantalizing stretch of skin about this wide that shows? Usually, I’m looking at you when you do it, but I confess, the small of your back is also one of my focus points."

It wasn’t what he’d expected. "My shirt rides up?"

"Most of them." 

Harper leaned sideways to study Dylan’s face. "It’s not because I keep having these little freak-outs?"

Dylan’s face changed, just a little bit, not quite stricken, but definitely disturbed. "I don’t think so."

"But you aren’t sure," Harper said shrewdly and leaned up to kiss Dylan’s mouth. "It’s okay, Dylan, don’t _you_ start freaking out. One of us is enough."

Dylan’s hand stilled suddenly. "I’ll try not to." Quietly, too quietly. "Harper, Rommie told me about--about finding you on med-deck with the gun."

Harper blinked. "I figured she would."

"She didn’t tell me earlier because of privacy issues." Dylan grimaced. "I hope--Harper, I said I wouldn’t let you die that way, and as little as I like to make that promise, I meant it."

Some contrary demon made Harper say, "Yeah, because you don’t believe it’s going to come to that."

Steady look. "I don’t intend to allow it. But--if it comes to that, I want you to trust my promise. I won’t let you die that way."

His throat hurt suddenly, and Dylan’s eyes were too bright. "Okay." He couldn’t manage anything more.

Dylan hugged him hard, suddenly, and they both squirmed around, face to face, stretched out on the divan. It wasn’t even precisely sexual, it was more like Dylan wanted to hold him to life by force, if necessary.

"Hey," he finally gasped, "watch the ribs, okay?"

Dylan’s arms loosened. "Sorry." Rusty voice. "Sorry, sorry." 

"S’okay, hey, I like hugs." Harper grinned suddenly. "Just remember, I’m not quite as built as you are."

Dylan gave him a look. Kissed him hard and hungry, and wow, he was definitely all over that, even if they ended up rolling off the divan. He landed on Dylan, who seemed to have planned it that way, and okay, that was good, too, and clothes went flying one piece at a time.

Naked Dylan was a very good thing, and Dylan’s mouth was hot on his skin, hotter on his cock and he ended up trying to grip the carpet while Dylan sucked his brains out, figuratively speaking. Midway, before his brains had vanished, he managed to squirm around to return the favor, even if it was hard to concentrate with that lovely, wicked mouth doing things to him.

After, he felt languid, but Dylan chivvied him into getting up and eating something. "Nag, nag, nag," he complained, only half-seriously.

"You’ve been working your ass off," Dylan said sternly, "You have to eat."

He put his foot in Dylan’s lap. "Yeah, yeah, you just want to get more work out of me." Smirking to make sure Dylan didn’t take him seriously. "Or something."

Dylan smirked back. "Or something. Can’t have you wasting all that Harper energy on work, Seamus."

God. He took his foot out of Dylan’s lap and climbed into it. 

"You aren’t eating," Dylan said, trying not to laugh. "And you clearly have an exaggerated view of my abilities."

"And my own," Harper said and licked Dylan’s jaw. "But I figure we can spend some time working up to you fucking me. Which request, I hate to tell you, you haven’t fulfilled."

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "I seem to recall having to sit on my hip the other day. Are you complaining?"

Harper out-waited the blush. "Ah. Well. No, I’m not complaining, but it’s my turn, dammit."

"It _is_ an extremely attractive idea," Dylan said thoughtfully. "But I wouldn’t want to take any chance of, ah, wearing you out. You have to keep your strength up."

Harper grinned. "You really are a manipulative bastard."

Dylan smirked again. "The essence of command."

Shifting sideways in Dylan’s lap, Harper took a bite of stew. "Okay, but I’m not moving. Bet you didn’t know I was a contact addict."

"No, I didn’t, but I have to admit, I like it." Dylan pulled Harper’s dish closer and kissed the back of Harper’s neck.

"Yeah, well, you haven’t been laid in a while." Harper looked sidelong at Dylan.

"Mmmm." Dylan sounded noncommittal.

Harper grinned. "So, if I’m a good boy, I get dessert?"

"And then some," Dylan said and smoldered at him.

Well, in that case....

  


* * *

"What is going on with you and Dylan?" Beka asked, a little snarkily, some few days later. "And where were you last night? I was looking for you, and Rommie said you had privacy mode on. But you weren’t on the Maru and you weren’t in your quarters on Andromeda."

Harper, in the act of getting himself a cup of real coffee, eyed her. "What d’you mean, what’s going on with me and Dylan?" Snarking back. "And what the hell is wrong with me invoking privacy mode? I’m allowed, Dylan said so."

Beka’s eyes narrowed. "Dylan said so." Her tone was almost dangerous. "You work for me, Harper."

Harper stared at her. "What is _wrong_ with you? We all work for Dylan, if you want to get picky about it."

Her mouth became a thin line. "Whatever. The two of you seem to be spending a lot of time together, lately."

"Yeah? Well, so?" Best defense, he thought, was a good offense. "I spend a lot of time with Trance, too. And Tyr, for that matter."

Beka’s temper seemed to ebb suddenly. "Sorry. I just--" Deep breath. "I worry about you, that’s all."

"I worry about me, too," he said a little truculently. "I’ve got hitchhikers in me, Beka. I worry about me a lot."

"We’re going to find a way," Beka began and stopped when his expression changed. "Harper, if anyone can, it’s Rommie and Trance."

He didn’t say anything to that. Took a sip of coffee instead. "I gotta get to work," he told her and tried on a grin. "An engineer’s work is never done."

She nodded, pursed her lips. "I’m sorry, Harper, I’m just on edge."

"Yeah, we all are." He headed out with his coffee, as if he had someplace to be. He didn’t, at least nothing pressing, but the last person he wanted to be around at the moment was Beka: Beka, who had gotten him off the hellhole that was Terra, Beka, who had been captain and friend for several years. He didn’t want to be in her sights right now; whatever was happening with Dylan, he wanted to keep it to himself for the time being. Not just for privacy’s sake, but also because--the truth was, he wanted it private because he needed someplace safe to be until the inevitable happened.

He _did_ trust Dylan’s promise, if only because it clearly cost Dylan something to make it. He wasn’t crazy, he didn’t _want_ to die, but choices had been taken from him the moment he’d fucked up and activated that backup. Still, he was glad he hadn’t forced Tyr to shoot him; he would have missed this... this thing with Dylan.

Who, as if summoned, came around a corner suddenly. Big smile, and Harper felt wobbly, just seeing it. "Off to the machine shop?" Dylan asked and stopped in front of him.

"I’m afraid so. I’ve got to put together some new scrubbers for the ventilation system." He leaned into Dylan’s space, and Dylan leaned into his, put an arm around Harper. 

"You doing all right today?" Dylan’s voice was very low.

Harper grinned. "Oh, I’ll have to be careful sitting down, but yeah, I’m great."

Dylan actually blushed, which cracked him up. "Um, good." 

"Watch out for Beka," Harper said and leaned against Dylan for a moment. "She’s in a mood today."

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. "Why, what did she do?"

Harper shrugged. "Second degree about where I was last night. Heading toward third, but she backed off."

"Hmmm." Dylan looked thoughtful. "I don’t particularly object to your telling her."

"It’s none of her business." Fiercely. "It’s mine and yours."

Dylan smiled faintly. "Up to you. I’ll watch my step with her, though. Thanks for the warning."

Harper nodded. "See you later, then." Cheerful again.

That got him a long smoldering look. "Count on it."

They separated then, and Harper went on to the machine shop. Smiling all the way.

  


* * *

With repairs and supplies and communiqués, several days passed without any new and nasty surprises. Profoundly grateful for that, Dylan allowed himself to simply enjoy the hours spent working closely with Harper; even with the ‘bots, there was one helluva lot of damage and he was damned well determined to get the Andromeda back into battle ready condition. Working closely with Tyr wasn’t quite as pleasant, but even if the Nietzschean irritated, there was no denying his skill. Rev, now--there was another matter. He wasn’t blindly trusting of Rev; although he trusted Beka’s judgement, he was less certain he trusted Rev’s. He didn’t entirely believe Tyr’s assertion that Rev had gone feral, but he didn’t entirely discount it, either.

Tyr was Nietzschean. It followed that his spin on Rev’s behavior would be in Tyr’s own best interests. That didn’t mean that Rev hadn’t been on shaky ground on the world ship. 

It didn’t mean that Rev’s judgement hadn’t suffered afterward. A three week fast was, to say the least, ill considered. Even if Beka had been right and Rev had _not_ reverted to feral.

Harper seemed to accept Rev as Rev. But given Harper’s fragile equilibrium and equally fierce loyalties, he wasn’t sure that was enough to completely ease his mind.

Trance was Trance, not as careful of Harper as he would have expected. He had to admit that made him bristle inwardly; the fact that Harper had been dragooned into clearing out bodies still made him angry, never mind that it also reflected on _his_ lack of judgement and forethought.

He could forgive Trance, but not himself, at least not altogether. Not after learning that Harper had come very close to suicide in his absence. He didn’t say that to Harper, of course, Harper would merely tell him he was taking the blame for everything again, and while he could objectively admit that tendency, he didn’t want to be exonerated on this count.

But he could make up for it. He hoped. He seemed to be making up for it, at any rate, because Harper was gradually growing accustomed to being waylaid and hauled into Dylan’s quarters at the end of every shift.

So on the tenth day after he had asked Rommie to investigate genetic therapy in reverse, Harper put his feet in Dylan’s lap while they were eating dinner in said quarters. "You’re spoiling me rotten."

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "I am?"

"You am." Harper’s expression was serious, in spite of the words. "But what do you get from it?" His mouth quirked. "I mean, aside from great sex. Well, it’s great for me, anyway." 

"Do you hear me complaining?" Dylan put his fork down. "What’s on your mind?"

Harper flushed and shrugged. "I was just wondering."

Pushing his chair back, Dylan closed his fingers around one of Harper’s ankles. "I’m not altruistic, if that’s what you’re asking. I thought we’d established that."

Quick, fugitive grin. "Well, okay."

Dylan pushed the sock down, rubbed his thumb just behind the joint. "If you were High Guard, I’m afraid I’d have to deny myself, but somehow, it seems a little pointless to worry about insubordinate officers when you’re all already as insubordinate as hell." He smiled, rubbed warm skin with his thumb again to make sure Harper took it as humour.

"I’d look terrible in the uniform," Harper said happily.

"Oh, I don’t know about that. I think it would suit your coloring very well." Dylan grinned. "But I’m just as glad you aren’t. I’m tired of self-denial."

Harper gave him a long look, and then one of those damned luminescent smiles. His feet pulled away from Dylan’s lap and then he was there, facing Dylan and doing his best to map out the inside of Dylan’s mouth. Dylan returned the kiss with interest, even if he was beginning to suspect that some of Harper’s middle of the meal moves were made with the specific intent to distract Dylan from how little Harper actually managed to eat these days.

A few more minutes of that, and he decided the hell with dinner; they at least made it to the bed this time, and that was better than fine, even if they had to bicker over who was doing whom. It was mostly pro forma; when Harper insisted, it put Dylan’s brain into meltdown anyway, so there wasn’t a chance in hell his cock wasn’t going to follow that directive.

When Harper was focused, Harper was... very focused. He’d known that, of course, but hadn’t ever allowed himself to consider what that focus might be like in erotic situations.

Now that he knew, there were moments he wasn’t entirely sure he was going to survive it.

Sweet and hot and he applied himself to achieve that same focus, stroking Harper, licking along Harper’s collarbone while trying not to simply drive himself into Harper’s flesh.

"So good," Harper panted, "God, Dylan."

God, indeed. He rolled them both over, which made Harper yelp in surprise and delight, settled Harper atop him, in control, and watching Harper’s face was going to push him over the edge in an embarrassingly short time.

Leaning over Dylan, propped on his hands, Harper smiled, a little feral himself, began to move steadily. Reaching between them, Dylan stroked slippery fingers over Harper’s belly, down to his cock, closed his fingers around it and found Harper’s rhythm. Matched it. Focus, god, focus, and Harper’s expression was effortfully ecstatic, so goddamned focused and that was what did it, that was what pushed him over the edge.

He came with a roar, and felt Harper shudder a moment later, felt hot slickness spill over his fingers and god, felt another lightning bolt of pleasure course his nerves and cried out again.

Harper was shuddering still; he gathered Harper against him, tried to catch his breath. Rubbed Harper’s shoulder blades until he realized that the shuddering hadn’t stopped, that Harper’s face was hot and wet against him. Brief flare of panic, but Harper was just holding on. It eased the panic, but not the worry; he contented himself with just holding on in return and finally, finally, the shuddering stopped, he heard Harper take in a ragged breath and asked, "Are you--"

"I’m okay." Drowsy now. "Sorry."

He considered that. "No need." Roughly, and he tightened his arms. He wanted to know why. He wanted to demand an answer. But his instincts had been serving him well with Harper lately, and his instinct told him to shut the fuck up and let Harper be. At least for the moment.

The resolution to obey that instinct lasted until they were soaking in a hot bath. "Talk to me?" Very softly.

Harper grimaced, turned around to lean back against Dylan’s chest. "Do I have to?"

Dylan sighed. "Not if you don’t want to."

"It isn’t that." Harper was silent for a moment. "I just don’t know what happened. Something just hit me, I guess." He sounded embarrassed.

"Okay," Dylan said easily and reached for the bath sponge. "I’m a worrier, you know that."

Harper turned to face him again, his expression relieved. "Yeah, I know. But I’m fine. Better than fine."

Dylan dangled the bath sponge over Harper’s head. "And wet, too."

Flash of delight and the sedate soak turned into something better suited to a couple of hormone crazed adolescents. Once in bed, Harper subsided into a drowsy huddle against pillows, and Dylan was content to wrap himself around that huddle. From the sound Harper made in response, Harper seemed content, too.

At least, Dylan told himself, there was that. But he was going to speak privately to Rommie, to see how her application of theory was coming. The hell with waiting.

The hell with borrowed time.

  


* * *

"Actually, yes," Rommie’s image said, in answer to Dylan’s inquiry. "And I have a delivery method. With Harper’s somewhat compromised immune system, it’s going to require something carefully engineered."

Dylan’s pulse sped slightly. "When do you think you’ll be ready?"

She looked at him. "He’s going to have to be under constant monitoring. Even an apparently benign engineered retro-virus could have unforeseen effects, Dylan."

Dylan considered, looked at the viewscreen on which a crystalline structure appeared. "That’s the virus?"

Rommie nodded. "And I’ve used DNA samples from both Rev and the larvae removed from Tyr. I won’t take any chance whatsoever of effecting Harper’s own genetic code."

He nodded approval at that. "It’s time to discuss this with Harper. Call him to med-deck, Rommie, I’ll meet you both there."

"And Trance?"

"Trance, too." Dylan closed the screen down, got up from his desk. He beat Harper to the med-deck, if only just, and behind Harper came Beka, whose expression was mildly alarmed.

Harper was harder to read, although he grinned when he saw Dylan. "What’s up?"

"Ah." Dylan pressed the door control. "Rommie’s been doing some research, of course, and she thinks she may have an approach to... neutralizing the Magog larvae."

Harper’s expression went blank. "Huh?"

The door opened and Dylan gestured.

"Neutralize them how?" Beka’s voice was sharp.

"Genetic therapy," Rommie said, appearing behind them, Trance in tow. "The problem has been the biological defenses of the larvae; I’m hoping to neutralize them with genetic therapy."

"But they react to nanobots," Beka snapped. "So what good is that?"

"Not nanobots, an engineered retrovirus." Rommie led them into the lab. "The difficulty is that even an engineered retrovirus may make Harper ill, and the fact that as genetic therapy goes, this is a scattergun approach. I don’t know which specific genes control the biological defenses, so I’m aiming at all Magog genes."

Beka frowned. "How are you going to get the virus to the larvae? In their dormant stage, they aren’t feeding on Harper."

Dylan winced. 

Harper only nodded, his expression shell-shocked. "Yeah. And I’d really rather not hear you tell me that you’re going to let them come out of dormancy."

"No." Trance was firm. "There’s no problem there. Um. They’re essentially bathed in Harper’s body fluids, dormant or not. They’ll get it. The other problem is that we’re, um, going to have to take a biopsy of one of them after Harper’s body begins to produce antibodies. To see if it’s working. Which is risky."

Harper laughed shortly. "Oh, you mean taking a biopsy could kill me. On the other hand, just taking a biopsy isn’t trying to remove the little bastards, so how bad could it be?"

"It could make you pretty sick, Harper." Trance’s voice was very soft. "But I think I can guarantee that it won’t kill you. Even if we find out that it’s not working yet, that doesn’t mean it won’t. It just means we have to do another biopsy. It won’t be fun."

"And dying is?" Harper’s tone was ironic. "So, great. I have to admit, I didn’t think you guys would be able to come up with something."

Trance looked embarrassed. "Well, we weren’t thinking in those terms, exactly. It was Dylan’s idea. Using a virus, I mean."

Harper looked up, and Dylan’s throat tightened at his expression. "Way to go, Boss." 

"This was _your_ idea?" Beka sounded... displeased. "Rommie, Dylan is hardly a medical expert."

"No, and that’s precisely why he was able to think past current medical practice to historical information. I admit, it hadn’t occurred to me to use the viral method. It was obsolete four hundred years ago, but was very effective in its time." Rommie arched an eyebrow.

Beka shook her head. "I don’t like this, Harper. Your immune system is already dodgy--what could it do to his immune system, Rommie? I remember reading about the Terran retrovirus plagues in the late twentieth century."

Harper turned to stare at Beka. "Uh, hello, Beka, this is my body, my decision."

She put her hands on his shoulders. "Seamus, this is pretty damned risky. What difference is there between this and just taking the bastards out? You could die either way."

"Beka, this is really a lot safer than removing them surgically," Trance began, but subsided when Beka turned toward her. 

"In fact, Trance is quite correct," Rommie said calmly. "This is not only safer, it would appear to be the safest method we’ve considered, even factoring in the possibilities of Harper’s system reacting in an idiosyncratic way."

"Let’s do it," Harper said roughly. "Now. Beka, calm down, it’s my decision. And I decide yes. Believe me, even if this _was_ dangerous, it’s still better than dying that way."

Beka turned to Dylan. He could see anger, could hear it, but more than that, he could see fear, fear for Harper. "Beka, I wouldn’t allow it if there wasn’t a very strong probability that it would work. I don’t take chances with my people." 

That got him another look from Harper that threatened his composure. He managed to get by with just a hand on Harper’s shoulder, a gentle squeeze. "You’re sure, Harper?" He asked it for Beka’s sake.

Long steady look. "I’m ready. I’m way past ready."

Trance took in a breath. "Okay. Let me get the injector."

Harper smiled at her, and Beka whirled on Dylan. 

"If he doesn’t make it through this, I am holding you personally responsible." A hiss, and then she spun on her heel, stalked out.

"She’s just worried," Harper said, watching her go. "Don’t let it get to you. I’ll talk to her again."

"I know, and I won’t." Dylan’s voice had unaccountably gone hoarse. "Why don’t you take it easy today."

Affectionate look. "I won’t get crazy, but hey, it’s not going to make me sick immediately. Takes a while, right, Rommie?"

"About twenty-four hours, I would anticipate." Rommie folded her arms. "Any fever, any aches, you report to med-deck, Harper."

Harper nodded, rolled up his sleeve for Trance, winced at the hiss of the injector. "Cold."

"Like always," Trance agreed. "And what Rommie said--Harper, if you even get a headache, I want you to tell me. Or Rommie."

"Gotcha," Harper agreed and rolled his sleeve down. He looked at Dylan again. "Buy ya lunch, Boss?"

"I’m buying, but yeah." Dylan smiled back, heedless. Now if only, please god, it worked.

  


* * *

They never had gotten to lunch, Harper thought, some hours later, working on a motherboard. Somehow, there was something... scarily wonderful about Dylan coming up with the idea that Rommie had turned into a reality. Stubborn Dylan, he’d continued to insist he wasn’t going to allow Harper to die, and now it was beginning to look as if he’d been right.

Which wasn’t any different than a damn fool going after Magog-infested crew, but it warmed him anyway.

"Harper." Beka’s voice was quiet.

He turned, arched an eyebrow. "Hey, Beka." 

She leaned a hip against his worktable. "Listen, I’m sorry about getting bitchy earlier. I’m just--you know, I’m just worried."

"I know." He smiled at her, trying to reassure. "I know, Beka. It’s okay. But it _is_ my choice. My risk. And I’m willing to take it."

"Because Dylan’s fucking you?" Her voice was soft, but the words made him jerk back as if she’d hit him. "Is that why?"

"Because I’m going to die otherwise," he snapped back, suddenly furious. "What don’t you _get_ about that, Beka?"

Her mouth trembled. "Harper, there’s got to be a different way. We’ll find one, Trance will find one, you know she will."

"Trance thinks this is a good idea," he growled and moved away from the table. "And anything with me and Dylan is not your business."

"I’m sorry, that was out of line, but if he’s messing with your decisions, Harper, I--"

"No." Dangerously. "He’s not. And frankly, I’m pretty goddamned pissed that you think I’m that easy to manipulate. What makes you think Dylan _would_ manipulate me like that, anyway?"

"Oh, please." Beka turned away for a moment. "Look, I’m not saying he’d do it to cause you harm, Harper, but Dylan believes in optimal results. The man went after you even though he was pointing a nova bomb at the damned sun of the world ship, even though he _knew_ he might not have time. And if that _thing_ hadn’t done the impossible, he wouldn’t have had time, you’d have all died!"

He took in a deep breath, struggled with his temper. "Beka, I get that. I do. But I trust him. And I trust Trance. I mostly trust Rommie, especially when it doesn’t threaten Dylan or the ship. Leave it alone, okay? It was my decision and it’s done now." He patted his arm. "Trance gave me the stuff already."

Her mouth twisted briefly. "Okay. Okay. You’re right. Just, god, Harper. If you start feeling bad, you go to med-deck, you don’t wait around just because. You hear me?"

It made it easier, knowing that she was scared for _him_. It made it easier, knowing that she had her own nightmares from what had happened. So he was able to nod without letting go of his temper. "I know. Trust me, I will."

Beka nodded, tried to smile. "Are we still friends?"

He didn’t dare speak. But he nodded again.

She blinked hard, tried another smile and then turned, walking quickly back out of the machine shop.

They were friends, weren’t they? When Bobby had been around, he hadn’t always been sure, but that had been a while. And he thought they were now. Which meant he was going to have to give up being angry with what she had said.

Even if it took some work.

Dylan was reading, stretched out comfortably, when Harper finally called it a day and went to Dylan’s quarters. Quick glance up and a grin, removing any doubt of his welcome, and Dylan held out a hand.

He grinned back, went to settle himself in the space Dylan made. "I’m good," he said, before Dylan asked. "At least so far."

"Good." Dylan tugged him closer, cupped his face with both hands. "Let’s do what we can to make sure it stays that way." 

Dylan’s voice was a little... shaky. He mentally shrugged, dove in for a hug. Truth was, his arm ached a little, but he’d already mentioned that to Trance. Dylan returned the hug, drew back with a frown. "You feel a little warm."

Harper rolled his eyes. "Already saw Trance for it. She says it’s pretty normal for an early reaction. Besides, I don’t feel bad."

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "Are you making fun of me?"

Harper grinned again. "Maybe just a little."

"As long as it’s only just a little. Hungry? I don’t have anything fancy, but there’s soup."

"Soup sounds good, actually." Harper got up again, wandered over to check said soup, decided it smelled appetizing and poured himself a mugful. Grabbed a chilled bottle of water while he was at it; Trance had solemnly urged him to push liquids, and he had no problem with that. Eating was what gave him trouble lately, but he was honestly hungry for a change. He supposed that was reassuring, in a way; it meant that his loss of appetite had more to do with thinking about the larvae than the larvae themselves.

He returned to the divan, got himself promptly captured and settled against Dylan’s chest. "You are a universe class worrier," he teased, "I’m okay, honestly. Besides, even if I start feeling crappy, it means that little virus of Rommie’s is doing its work, right?"

"Right." Dylan sighed. "But it’s not going to stop me from worrying. This is normal worrying, at least. If Rommie and Trance say it will work, it will work, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to watch you feeling crappy without being bothered."

Harper leaned back comfortably, sipped at his soup. "I get that. It’s kinda nice, actually." 

Dylan chuckled, warm breath against his hair. "Good, that means you won’t lose patience and shoot me."

"Wouldn’t shoot you anyway." Harper smiled into his soup. "Maybe lock you in your quarters."

"And how would you manage that? My command codes override everything."

"Convince Rommie that you, ah, needed the rest." A finger poked at his ribs, and Harper snickered. "Or else rewrite the door codes so that nothing can override them."

"I’ll bet you can do it, too, you menace." But Dylan’s voice was amused. "How’s the soup?"

"Good." Harper drank some more. "Sorry I was so late. Beka went off the deep end and it took me a while to get focused on finishing up again."

Dylan tensed slightly. "Off the deep end about what?"

Harper sighed. "About this treatment, mostly. I guess she’s figured out where I’m spending my off time, and she got it into her head that I’m taking some huge chance because I want to make you happy. With the treatment, I mean." He tilted his head to the side, grinned. "I mean, hey, I’d take some chances to make you happy, but not with my _life_."

"Thank god," Dylan agreed, but his mouth quirked in a way that Harper recognized as irritated. "She really must be worried if she thinks that you’re that simpleminded."

Harper laughed outright. "Good point. I’ll tell her that if it comes up again. It shouldn’t, though." He hoped. "Maybe she just thinks that great sex melts my brain or something."

"Mmmhmm." Dylan didn’t sound less irritated. "Do you want me to talk to her?"

"Nah, I’ll deal. It’s Beka, Dylan, we’ve been friends since--well, since Bobby took off." He drank the rest of his soup, started to get up--Dylan took the mug and put it on the table instead, wrapped an arm around Harper’s middle, which made Harper laugh. "Possessive git, aren’t you."

"Damned right I am." 

Dylan’s hand felt cool against his skin; letting his head fall back on Dylan’s shoulder, Harper yawned, surrendering. "I _am_ tired," he admitted.

Dylan nuzzled him. "Bed, then."

Harper nuzzled back. "Okay." He snagged his bottle of water before Dylan steered him toward the bed, sat down on the edge and watched while Dylan dealt with the mug and the rest of the soup. He really was feeling languid suddenly; not really ill, but like he could sleep for about twenty-four hours.

Dylan came back, leaned against the room divider and smiled. "You look wiped out."

He nodded sheepishly. "Catching up with me, I guess." 

"Rommie?" Dylan tipped his head to look at the comm. "Do me a favor, and monitor Harper’s vitals tonight."

"Understood." 

Rommie the ship’s voice always sounded oddly disembodied to him, especially now that avatar Rommie had a real voice. So to speak. 

Harper kicked his boots off, let himself fall backward and wriggled out of his pants. By that time, Dylan had pulled the bedclothes down, and was chivvying him out of his shirt.

Brief frown. "Ouch, that looks tender."

Harper looked. The injection site was a little puffy and a little red. "It is, a little."

Gentle brush of fingertips around the edge. "Remind me not to crowd that arm," Dylan murmured and nudged Harper toward the pillows.

There was something sappily great about being welcome here even when he felt like this. Settling back, he watched Dylan undress for bed; he might not feel up to par, but hell if he wasn’t going to enjoy the scenery.

Dylan caught him watching, smiled at him. "Don’t get that gleam in your eye, we’re just _sleeping_ tonight."

"I know." Harper yawned again. "But that’s pretty nice, too."

Oh, wow, who knew Dylan could look like that? He stored that expression away for cherishing later, let himself be carefully held. "You’re a universe-class cuddler, too," he muttered, closing his eyes. The light went down, leaving the back of his eyelids nice and dark, and he slid one leg between Dylan’s, rubbed the top of that foot against the back of Dylan’s calf. 

"Am I?" Dylan’s mouth grazed the nape of his neck. "Good. If Beka keeps giving you grief, Seamus, I want to know about it."

"‘kay," he said drowsily. "But she won’t."

Dylan’s hands felt really good on his skin. He supposed that meant he really was developing a fever, and the comforting knowledge of what that meant followed him down into sleep.

  


* * *

"How is he?" Beka looked as if she’d gotten very little sleep, which was fair enough, in Dylan’s view, since he hadn’t either.

Not that Rommie wouldn’t have awakened him if there’d been any pressing need, but Harper’s skin had stayed just this side of too warm all night, and that meant he’d awakened several times to notice. "He says he’s feeling a little whipped, but he ate breakfast and wanted to finish some things up before it hits him hard." He kept his voice low, conscious of Tyr’s presence at the weapons console. "No specific complaints, just a low level achiness." 

"If he’s being straight with you." Beka’s gaze flicked away.

"Rommie’s monitoring him." It was the best he could give her, at least for the moment. "Beka, I know you’re worried about him, but you seem to be missing the point. This _will_ work. Whether or not the larvae will still require surgical removal, he’ll survive it."

"You can’t guarantee that, Dylan. And even if you could--" She managed a creditable smile. "Even if you could, it’s done, no point in making myself crazy, right? I just hope the damn cure doesn’t kill him."

"It won’t." Dylan’s temper wanted to assert itself, but he kept it leashed. "Beka, get some rest, will you? You look worse than I feel."

That earned a more genuine smile. "Yeah. I know, Dylan, you’re worried, too, and you can’t tell me that you aren’t. Sorry. Okay, I’ll get some rest."

He nodded, watched her go. When he turned, Tyr was leaning against the rail, watching him. "Yes?" A little irascibly. "Something I can do for you?"

"I understand the little professor is undergoing a highly experimental treatment." Tyr’s expression was shuttered, his tone dour.

"It’s not that experimental, whatever Beka thinks." Dylan was out of patience suddenly. "Rommie says it will work. The only real question is just _how_ sick it will make him. And that’s something we can deal with."

Did he see relief in Tyr’s face? He wasn’t sure, and Tyr wasn’t giving anything away. "Ah." A nod. "You realize, if this works, you will have a powerful tool with which to sway prospective Commonwealth members."

"Only if I withhold it." Dylan smiled thinly. "Which I won’t."

Tyr’s mouth curved slightly. "Of course not. But you might still use it to, ah, coax."

"It’s certainly a selling point," Dylan agreed. "We’ll be arriving at Delcinus within about twenty hours, am I correct?"

"For what it’s worth." Tyr rolled his eyes. "I’m still not sure _why_ you think Delcinus is a good candidate for your Commonwealth."

"Go read the geological surveys," Dylan said mildly. "And then, perhaps, some historical research is in order."

Tyr arched an eyebrow, but was clearly amused. "I will indeed," he said and straightened. "You might try taking some of your own advice, Dylan."

He arched an eyebrow. "My own advice?"

"Get some rest."

Quick, wicked smile and Tyr was gone, leaving him alone on command deck. Which was fine; he wasn’t in any frame of mind to deal equably with Rev Bem, and he was tired of Beka’s attitude, even if he understood it. Sometimes it was just as restful, here on command deck by himself. At any rate, it was going to have to do.

He’d actually gotten quite a bit accomplished when Rommie appeared on command deck. "Dylan, Harper is feeling a bit worse." An almost apologetic tone. "He really didn’t want to stay on med-deck, so I, ah, sent him to your quarters."

Dylan rose from the pilot’s seat. "Feeling worse how?"

"Nausea, headache, muscle aches." Rommie’s tone was definitely apologetic. "I’ve given him a mild anti-pyretic and something for his stomach, but I’m afraid those are palliatives until the virus runs its course. On the positive side, it means that it’s doing precisely what I intended it to do."

Dylan considered that, tried not to twitch. "I think I’ll look in on him. You have command, Rommie; I can finish up what I’m doing at my desk." Self-indulgence of the worst kind, he told himself, a little ashamed, but Rommie nodded.

"Good. I know I’m monitoring him, but it’s not the same as having a human presence, and I’m well aware that humans do better that way." Faintly approving.

He blinked, nodded, faintly amused. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d deliberately cut him any slack if she thought he was neglecting his duties, so perhaps it wasn’t as self-indulgent as he thought.

Whatever the case, he found Harper lying crosswise on the bed, arm over his eyes. He’d taken his boots off, but was otherwise fully dressed. 

Dylan crouched at the side of the bed. "Hey." Softly. 

Harper peered at him; his face was flushed, his cheeks almost rosy with fever. "Hey." Hoarsely. "I think it’s got me."

"Rommie says that’s a good thing." Dylan touched Harper’s forehead lightly. "How about a cool cloth for your head?"

"That sounds good." 

Dylan got one, came back and wiped Harper’s face gently. 

"If I didn’t feel so lousy, I’d purr," Harper muttered and turned his face into cool dampness. "Feels even better than it sounds."

Dylan smiled, lifted Harper’s chin with a fingertip and wiped the cloth over his throat. 

"I’ll give you an hour to stop that." Harper sounded almost drunk with pleasure or, perhaps, relief.

"I can do better than that. Get out of some of those clothes, and I’ll broaden my range." 

"Oh, man. You swear? Cuz I’m not moving unless you mean it."

"I mean it." 

Careful movement, and Dylan gave Harper a hand with the shirt; Harper waved him away after that, rolled off the bed and dropped his pants on the floor. "I’ll be right back, don’t even move."

Dylan’s smile faded a little when Harper vanished into the bathroom. He took advantage of Harper’s absence to pull the bedclothes down, and while he was at it, dig up a few cold packs he kept for those occasions when overexertion reminded him that he wasn’t getting any younger.

Harper returned and sighed with pleasure as he lay down on cool sheets. "You sure you wanna do this? You don’t have to. This is good."

"Right, like wiping off your semi-nude body is such a hardship. Do you think I’m insane? Of course I’m going to do this." Dylan laughed a little. "I’m a man of action, I hate having to wait around doing nothing; it might not actually do you a lot of good, but it helps me all to hell and back."

He got a weak grin in return, leaned down and kissed the tip of Harper’s nose. "Just lie still and let yourself get coddled."

"Aye aye, sir." A faint glint of humour, which was reassuring.

The amazing thing was that it was true; even if all he was doing was wiping a damp cloth over feverish skin, he felt better, felt less helpless. He wanted to fix things, only he knew better, he knew that this fix would take a little time, and there was no rushing it.

Even if all of them would have liked to.

"How was Beka to you?" Harper’s eyes were heavy-lidded. "She didn’t jump your case, did she?"

Dylan shook his head. "She was fine. Worried, still, but not out of line." Not really. "If she gets on _your_ case, though, I want to know about it."

"You worry too much," Harper told him and let his eyes close. "Don’t be offended if I go to sleep. This feels so great, you can’t imagine."

Harper’s skin didn’t seem quite as hot, even if that was only surface temp. "Oh, I can imagine. It’s not like I haven’t ever been sick, Harper."

"Must be when you learned this." Harper’s fingers brushed his knee.

"Go to sleep," Dylan said softly. "Sleeeeeeeeeeep."

Faint snicker, and Harper touched him again. "You’re kind of endearing when you’re goofy."

"Thank god." Dylan smiled, continued, and Harper’s eyelids stayed closed, Harper’s breathing slowed gradually. Folding the cloth, Dylan laid it over Harper’s forehead and eyes, waited a little longer to be sure Harper was asleep.

Self-indulgent or not, he was glad he was here. And he was pretty sure Harper was, too.

  


* * *

Harper was off the bed and in the bathroom puking his guts up before he was even fully awake, which was good. At least he hadn’t thrown up in bed.

Evidently, Rommie’s medicine had worn off.

Naturally, Dylan was there before he could even finish retching, which was mortifying. Dylan didn’t seem to be too bothered, though, even if he did back off just a little when Harper waved him away.

Once breakfast and lunch were gone, his belly seemed to settle down. Dylan took that opportunity to give him a glass of water to wash out his mouth and a wet towel to wipe his face.

"Trance is on her way with more of the meds," Dylan said softly, clearly doing his best not to drive Harper crazy. 

It made it easier to lean back against the wall and not snarl. "I’m okay." Hoarsely. "Just, you know...." He flapped a hand vaguely.

Dylan sank back on his heels and nodded soberly. "You want a hand getting back to bed?"

He squinted at Dylan. "I’m not going anywhere. Safer just to stay here for a while."

Another nod, although Dylan looked like he wasn’t happy about that idea. "I’ll get you a blanket."

"I’m fine," Harper said, a little more snappishly than he meant to.

"I’m sure you are. But the floor is cold, and somehow, even though I know it’s a myth, I have this thing about watching you shiver."

"That’s from puking," Harper said, a little apologetically.

Dylan rose and left, came back with a pillow _and_ a blanket. "By god, you’re neat about it." A little humourously. "You weren’t even _awake_."

That made him grin, if a little wearily. "Fine tuned reflexes."

"I guess." Dylan’s hand briefly cupped his cheek.

He had to admit, it was kind of nice to have someone around who gave a shit that he felt like warmed over death, even if he was reasonably certain it wasn’t going to kill him. He turned his face into that touch, shifted to let Dylan arrange the pillow and blanket and then sank down on both, curling up on his side.

Dylan patted his knee, sat down with him and started telling him totally ridiculous stories about his time at the High Guard Academy.

Trance arrived soon after with, to Harper’s acute dismay, Beka right behind her.

"He should be on med-deck," Beka snapped.

Trance gave her a look. "That’s what I’m checking, Beka." 

Harper pushed himself upright, leaned against Dylan while Trance used the scanner on him. "I don’t want med-deck unless I have to," he told Trance weakly. "Okay?"

Still watching the readings, Trance nodded. "Okay. I won’t make you unless I have to." Brief smile at him and then she pressed the touchpad to the inside of his elbow. He felt the slight sting, sighed.

Trance kept reading the scan, smiled suddenly. "You don’t have to go yet, Harper. We’ll have to watch and see, but I think you’d be just as comfortable here."

"Trance," Beka said, clearly gritting her teeth. "He should be on med-deck."

Trance gave her an odd look. "No, Beka, not if he’s comfortable here. There’s not much more we can do for him at this point than to keep him as comfortable as possible."

Beka frowned, looked at Dylan. "Surely _you’ve_ got better sense, Dylan." Accusingly.

And suddenly, that was just about all Harper could take. "Beka, it’s my decision. I’m not going to med-deck until Trance says I have to. Now will you please get the fuck out of here and let me be sick in peace?"

"Harper--"

He looked at Dylan, feeling a little desperate. "Get her out of here, please? Please?"

Dylan was on his feet before the second "please," turned Beka by her shoulders and guided her back out of the bathroom.

Harper promptly lay back down, tugged a fold of the blanket over him. 

Trance touched his face gently, pressed a medi-pad against his upper arm. "I’m going to leave some of these with you, Harper, but you have to go at least four hours before replacing this one."

"Is that what Rommie gave me before?" His head was starting to throb painfully.

"For the nausea. I’m going to give you an injection, too. That’s for the fever and headache." 

Her fingers were cool on his skin, and even though he was prepared for it, the injection made him jump slightly.

"Just lie still for a while," Trance told him softly. "It should ease up soon."

"I will." He closed his eyes again, sighed when the lights went down. Trance’s presence was comforting, and he dozed a little, or he thought he did.

Suddenly, though, Trance was gone, and for an instant he heard Dylan’s raised voice, angry and tired, heard the impact of flesh against flesh, and then, Trance’s voice, shocked. "Beka!"

There was an awful silence. Harper struggled upright with the blanket and waited out a wave of nausea before moving toward the voices.

"Tyr, please escort Captain Valentine back to her quarters." Dylan’s voice was calm. Cold. 

Harper paused, realized that they were all standing out in the corridor. Sighed and leaned against the room divider for a moment before starting up again. He arrived as Beka and Tyr vanished around a corner. Trance was standing there, clearly still shocked, and, god, oh, god, Dylan wore a visible handprint on one side of his face.

"Oh, shit." Weakly.

Dylan’s head turned. "You’re supposed to be lying down." Kindly, and he rubbed that side of his face. "She’s got a mean right."

"I’m sorry." Harper leaned against the door. "What the _hell_ is wrong with her? Is she on Flash again or what?"

Dylan’s expression flickered. "I don’t-- Trance?"

"I don’t think so." Trance looked miserable. "I’ll talk to her, I’ll check."

"Good. We don’t need another episode like that last one." Dylan sighed, looked back at Harper. "I mean it, you should be lying down."

"I think that stuff is helping," Harper said. "Dylan, I’m sorry."

"You didn’t do anything to be sorry for." Dylan shook his head. "I have to say, though, even if she’s suffering some PTSD and scared for you, I’m running out of patience." A little grimly.

"I’ll talk to her."

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. "Only if you’re up to it. And not now. Let her cool down."

Harper sighed. "Shit. I--"

"Bed," Dylan said firmly. "Thank you, Trance. And I want to know the results if you do a med-check on Beka."

Trance nodded absently, turned toward Harper. "He’s right, Harper. You need to rest."

Right. He let Dylan guide him back toward the bed again. "I just don’t get it," he whispered. "What’s going on with her?"

"Post battle shock." Dylan sighed, sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. "Beka’s done a lot of things, and she makes a damn good officer, but she isn’t a soldier. I should have recognized it earlier, but I think some of my personal feelings got in the way. I’ll talk to her, Harper. Hopefully, she’ll listen, but even if she doesn’t, she’ll get past it. She’s strong."

It made his throat hurt, the fact that Dylan got it and he hadn’t, not exactly. It made his throat hurt that Dylan cared enough to reassure him on so many counts he didn’t want to think about them all. So he curled his fingers over Dylan’s and rolled over on his side. "Thanks."

Dylan smiled faintly. "Think you can sleep again, or should I dig up the remote for you?"

Actually, losing himself in a vid was an attractive idea. "Remote, please." Humbly.

Dylan found it, punched up the menu for him. "I’m going to see if she’s calmer now. I’ll be back."

"If you aren’t, I’m sending Tyr in." 

Laughing softly, Dylan leaned in and kissed his mouth lightly. "Good. I may need the help."

  


* * *

On the Maru, Beka _was_ calmer. Thankfully. And embarrassed and trying not to be flippant. "I lost it. I’m sorry."

Dylan nodded. "I gathered." Dryly. "Do you know why?"

Beka paced the small confines of her quarters. "It’s just--I don’t know, honestly, but it’s like being in the wrong skin or something. Everytime I open my mouth to Harper, I’m snarling at him, and that’s not what I want, that’s not what I mean to do."

Dylan sat down on a bench. "Is it possible that you resent the fact that he doesn’t seem to want you looking out for him?" Mildly.

That got a sharp look. "Are you suggesting that I’m jealous?"

"Off balance," he said, still mild. "You’re used to a certain relationship, and in the aftermath of our little adventure with the Magog, there may be some part of you that’s been thrown off balance. I’ve felt it myself, frankly, and I’ve been through it before often enough to recognize it."

Beka frowned. "Been through _what_ often enough?"

"Battle shock." He arched an eyebrow at her. "Lost comrades, lost crew, lost commanding officers."

Beka’s frown deepened. "You think that’s what’s going on?"

"I think it’s possible." 

She sat down on her bunk, scowled at her feet. "But we didn’t lose anyone."

"We could have. It was damned well close." He arched an eyebrow at her.

After a moment, she nodded at him. Sighed. "I’m really sorry about that." A gesture toward her cheek.

"You’ve got an impressive swing," he said.

Beka winced. "Sorry, sorry. God."

Dylan shrugged. "That bothers me less than the fact that you apparently don’t trust me to make sure Harper’s all right. I admit, as a commanding officer, I can be a son of a bitch, Beka, but I try to be fair. I know I haven’t always managed that in the past, I know I’ve been guilty of expecting you all to conform to High Guard standards, but I think I’ve learned to let go of some of that, just as I think you all have learned a bit more formal discipline." He let himself smile tightly. "If only to keep me from losing my temper."

She gave him a long look. "You have to admit, you’ve confused the issue."

He nearly laughed. "And that’s going to make me _less_ likely to care about his well being?"

But Beka didn’t back down. "Dylan, you have a tendency to guilt yourself. Yeah, I could see you bending over backwards to prove that it didn’t affect the mission."

Ouch. There was enough truth in that to sting. "I can’t deny that. All I can tell you is that it’s not going to happen. If I’ve learned anything, I’ve learned that this crew works best in its own way. It’s not necessary for me to try and recreate the High Guard." He allowed himself another tight smile. "It’s a big enough task to try to re-establish the Commonwealth, and that’s become a necessity."

Beka sighed, rubbed her face with both hands. "I’ll bet Harper was upset."

"I tried to tell you, that’s why I insisted you get out." He said it patiently, without the temper this time.

Beka nodded, a little shame-faced. "I should apologize." 

"I’ll pass it on to him for now. If he’s feeling better later, I’ll let you back in." He smiled again, hopefully taking the sharpness from it. "I don’t know what to suggest to you, Beka, but Rommie has a very good counseling module. I’ve used it myself. I just don’t want it to come to this again, because I _will_ throw you in the brig again."

Beka winced. "I know, I know. And you’d be justified. Knowing it isn’t going to make it easier to watch Harper sick or in pain. Or make me stop worrying about this treatment."

"I didn’t think it would. But I’d rather we didn’t come to blows when our ultimate goal is to get Harper healthy again." He rose. "By the way, how is Rev doing? He’s been scarce on the command deck lately."

Beka sighed again. "He’s... better, I guess. He’s either coming to terms with it, or still performing private penance." She looked up at him. "To tell you the truth, I’m still worried about him, too."

He nodded. "If there’s anything you think I ought to be doing there, I’d appreciate the advice. Most of my energy has been going to figuring out how to keep Harper from--" He stopped suddenly, remembering nearly too late that he’d never shared this bit of information with Beka. And wasn’t going to now, not in the wake of the earlier scene. "From giving up."

Beka nodded absently. "Well, I have to give you credit for that, Dylan." Crooked smile. "Friends again?"

Dylan nodded, held out a hand, and they shook on it.

It wouldn’t stop him from kicking her shapely ass all the way to the brig if it happened again, but he’d been through enough in his own career to understand what she was going through.

Harper was genuinely asleep, and the heat of his skin had lessened again. The nausea worried him more than the fever, but if Trance and Rommie felt it was fairly normal....

He sat there on the edge of the bed, looking down at Harper’s sleeping self, felt his own equilibrium shift. Insisting that Harper would survive wasn’t quite the same as knowing that he would; abruptly, his vision blurred and it was hard to breathe. Pinching the bridge of his nose helped, and Harper shifted in his sleep, which eased something in his chest.

Maybe it was time to take advantage of that module himself. Before balancing everything became impossible.

  


* * *

The fever eased, but didn’t go away; Harper slept and woke to Dylan giving him water and soup and juice and whatever Harper considered might stay down. The medication for the nausea helped a lot, and on the third day, he woke feeling a lot less like he wanted to stay unconscious. 

Dylan was working at his desk on the far side of the room, but his head snapped up when Harper pushed himself upright. 

"Hi." Harper told him hoarsely. 

Dylan was up and next to the bed fast enough that Harper felt dizzy. "How are you doing?"

Grimacing, Harper shrugged. "I feel better. I think. I’m thinking with a shower, I might feel even better."

Dylan frowned. "You up to that? Maybe a bath?"

Harper squinted up. "God, you’re tall."

Dylan’s mouth quirked and he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Better?"

"Much. A shower really sounds better." He tried for a playful leer, wasn’t sure how successful it was. "I wouldn’t mind company."

Dylan’s mouth twitched again. "I think that could be arranged."

"Yeah?" He blinked, smiled. "Good. Because I hate feeling this grungy." He wanted to lean against Dylan’s shoulder, but given his current condition it didn’t seem like a good idea.

Dylan apparently didn’t agree. Putting an arm around Harper’s shoulders, he hugged lightly. "Shower, then."

Oh, yeah. He got up, wobbling a little, made his way with Dylan to the bathroom, nearly whimpered in pleasure and relief at the hot water. 

Dylan got in after him, eyed him thoughtfully. "You doing okay?"

"This is great. Whoever came up with the idea of hot water needs to be made a fucking saint."

That got a grin, and then, hilariously, Dylan insisted on washing his hair for him. Not that he was objecting, not at all; it was a weirdly sensual and luxurious feeling, and he leaned against Dylan comfortably. "Man, you really are spoiling me."

"I think you’re entitled to a little right now." Almost a whisper and Dylan turned him to let the spray rinse away the lather. 

He smiled, wrapped his arms around Dylan’s waist and tipped his head back. "On the other hand, I think you’re even better than hot water." 

Dylan’s expression didn’t change, and for a moment, he felt a little flash of alarm. What the fuck had he just said, what the hell was he thinking? But Dylan’s arms went around him snugly. "Better than hot water," he said lightly. "I think I just got a promotion."

And before he could figure out what that meant, Dylan leaned down and kissed him, heedless of viral influences. Relief combined with three days of feeling like warmed over death made his knees wobble, which had Dylan nudging him out of the shower before he was really ready to go, but hell if he objected. 

Matter of fact help getting into clean t-shirt and way too big pajama pants, and then he was back in bed again; sneaky Dylan had obviously had the housekeeping drones in while they were in the shower, the sheets were cool and clean and unwrinkled, and man, he felt almost human.

Dylan sat down again, hair still damp. "Think you could eat something?"

He thought about that. "Maybe some juice," he finally said judiciously. "Don’t wanna tempt fate right now."

That got another one of those smiles he only saw here, in Dylan’s quarters. Settling back against the pillows, he sounded himself subjectively. He still ached from fever, but it had to be way down; his head no longer felt like it was in a vise, and even if he felt hollow, Dyan’s coddling had paid off. He only felt wiped, not half-dead. Which was a weird thought; he hadn’t been sick in a long time, unless he counted radiation sickness. He was used to huddling by himself until Beka figured out he was sick and harried him out of bed and to a clinic they could afford on whatever planet or drift or station was nearest.

He was still thinking about that when Dylan came back with a cold bottle of juice. "This okay?" 

Like it really mattered what kind of juice he wanted. Well, it did, to Dylan, and that made his throat tighten too much to answer. He nodded and held out his hand for the bottle, got his hair ruffled and a nuzzle that made him grin anyway. "Thanks." A little hoarsely.

"My pleasure." Another one of those smiles. "Trance is coming in to check on you. You know, the usual drill."

He nodded, opened the juice and drank. Oh, man, was it ever okay. He must be getting better, it tasted good enough that he closed his eyes and made a small sound in his throat.

Dylan laughed softly. "I take it that works?"

"S’great," he said and wiggled his toes under the blankets. "Really great."

Dylan sat down on the bed again and patted his leg through the blankets. "Anything else?" Almost hopefully.

He vaguely remembered Dylan saying something about feeling less helpless if he could do something. "Let the juice settle," he suggested. "Cuz I am hungry. I just don’t want to experience anything twice."

Dylan grimaced, laughed. "I can appreciate that. Okay, I won’t nag."

"Go finish whatever you were working on." Harper smiled happily.

That earned him another pat, and Dylan took the hint, went back to his desk. 

Harper was dozing again when Trance arrived, his fingers curled tightly around the nearly empty bottle of juice, started awake when the medical scanner hummed. "Hey, Trance."

She smiled at him. "Feeling a little better?"

He held up his hand, measured out some space between his thumb and index finger. "About that much." Smiled drowsily at her.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Harper, I think we can remove them now." 

He stared at her, and his heart thumped hard, making him dizzy. "Right now?"

She nodded solemnly.

Dylan appeared. "Trance." Warningly. "Are you certain. I want the absolute minimum risk to him."

Even dizzy, he found a grin for Dylan in protective mode. "Me, too, Boss."

Trance nodded solemnly. 

"What are we waiting for, then," Dylan said abruptly. "Think you’re up to a stroll down to med-deck."

"Hell, I think I could fly." Dizzy or not.

Dylan’s mouth twitched, but Dylan let him walk, albeit with a steadying arm around his shoulders. Or maybe it wasn’t to steady him, maybe it was just... Dylan.

He got up on the surgical table unaided. "Trance, no way do I want to be awake for this gig."

She grinned, nodded. "But I don’t want to put you too far under, Harper. It’s not good for you. A light sedative should work."

"How light," he asked skeptically.

"Light enough to let you wake up again," Dylan said dryly.

Harper grimaced, lay back. Trance grinned. "Everything off, Harper."

"I’ll freeze."

Dylan looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Sheet?"

Trance grinned again and went to get one. 

The table was warmed, though, and Dylan took his clothes, still trying not to laugh. He grumbled under his breath, but Trance came back with an injector and a sheet, and he didn’t even mind the light sting this time.

Fell off the edge of the world between one breath and another, Dylan’s expression following him down....

  


* * *

Dylan tried to sit still with little success. Of course, Beka wasn’t having any more luck than he was. Tyr leaned against the wall with his usual careless elegance, and Rev was off somewhere meditating or praying or whatever it was that Rev did.

He and Beka were pacing past each other for the thirtieth time when the door opened with a hiss and Trance stood there, beaming. "All done," she said.

Beka stopped beside Dylan. "And?" Tightly.

"And he’s fine. They’re dead. There wasn’t any difficulty in removing them at all." Trance looked at each of them in turn. "He’s just starting to wake up, but he’s fine, and if he wants, he can, um, leave med-deck."

Dylan closed his eyes briefly. Opened them and beat Beka past Trance and into the surgical room. Harper was wrapped in blankets, all the way to his ears, but he blinked sleepily at Dylan when Dylan fumbled at them to find a cold hand. 

"Hey," Dylan said softly.

Beka took the other side of the surgical table. "What he said," she murmured and Harper turned his head, smiled goofily. "How are you doing?"

"Great." Harper blinked at them, licked his lips. "It’s all done?"

Dylan rubbed Harper’s cold hand between his own. "It’s done."

"Is it ever," Beka said and sighed gustily. "Thank whatever god or gods there might be."

That got another goofy grin, and Harper tried to lean up on one elbow. "Oh, wow, I’m really stoned."

Dylan steadied him, laughed softly. "Want your clothes back?"

"Sure, unless you want me walking down the corridor in my skin." Harper smiled loopily at him, and if not for his ingrained discretion, he would simply have grabbed Harper and hauled him bodily back to his quarters.

Beka gave him a small smile, winked, and left the room, which at least let him kiss Harper’s mouth. "Think you can keep from falling down while I get your clothes?" 

"Sure." Harper pushed himself upright and braced himself on his hands to watch Dylan cross the room to the cupboard in which Trance had hidden his clothes. "Nice ass."

Startled, Dylan turned, grinned. "You’re _really_ stoned."

"Well, it is." Harper smiled happily at him, and took his shirt. Promptly got tangled in it. 

Laughing softly, Dylan helped sort it out, eyed the vertical, pink line of fused skin down the center of Harper’s belly. Not too long, just from the bottom of Harper’s ribcage to his navel, and Trance had done nice work, careful work. "There you go." 

Harper’s head emerged from the neck of the shirt, and his hair was even wilder than usual. Sans gel. It made him laugh again, and he helped Harper get his pants and socks on, still chuckling.

"What’s so funny?" Harper yawned. 

"It’s relief." Dylan steadied him again, helped him slide off the table and held on, hugged him.

Tyr stood in the doorway regarding this impassively. Dylan looked back at him, let his expression go stony, silently daring him to speak. He had to give Tyr credit, not even a shift in expression.

"Do you need any help with him?" Tyr asked, his tone mild.

Harper stopped nuzzling Dylan’s shirt and turned in Dylan’s arms to give Tyr a truculent look. "No, he _doesn’t_."

This time, Tyr’s mouth twitched a little. "Very well, I’ll leave you to it, then."

"Nietzscheans," Harper muttered and went back to nuzzling Dylan’s shirt. "Wanna celebrate, big guy."

Dylan grinned. "Sure." Privately, he gave Harper about a one in ten chance of staying awake once he was horizontal, but hell if he was going to hurt Harper’s feelings by turning him down. "Let’s get you back to bed."

Trance reappeared, her expression thoughtful. "He’s still got just a trace of fever, Dylan, but he should be all right in another 24 hours or so."

"I’ll take good care of him," Dylan assured her.

Harper wiggled his eyebrows at her. "And how."

Laughing again, Dylan put his hand over Harper’s mouth. "I’d better take him back before he embarrasses both of us in front of Tyr."

Trance dimpled.

Harper babbled cheerfully all the way back, but as Dylan would have predicted, the moment his head touched the pillows, those blue eyes closed. Smiling, Dylan tucked the bedclothes around him, sat down on the edge of the bed. And suddenly had the shakes so badly he had to put his head down over his knees.

It was over. It really was over.

And maybe something else could really begin instead of feeling like a stopgap or comfort to Harper.

  


* * *

The fever passed, and the ache in his bones, and Harper woke up two days after the successful surgery feeling... feeling a lot like he’d won the Altair lottery. For real. 

Of course, waking up next to Dylan wasn’t a bad way to wake up at all; it was, in fact, a very good way to wake up, miles and miles of Dylan and himself wrapped around all those miles.

"Hey," he muttered and nuzzled the nape of Dylan’s neck. "Hey, I think I’m done."

Dylan muttered something unintelligible into his pillow.

Harper licked the spot under Dylan’s left ear. "Wakey, wakey."

A hand reached back and goosed him fairly successfully for a hand whose owner was apparently reluctant to wake up.

Dylan raised his head and peered over his shoulder. "I forgot how perky you are when you’re not sick." Grumpily.

Refusing to take offense, Harper tugged, and Dylan helpfully rolled over onto his back. "And this is a bad thing?"

"Only when I’m sleeping." But the grumpy look eased into something that was just plain sleep-rumpled and an arm went around Harper, then Harper got tugged down and sleepily kissed. 

No complaints with that, and he liked the way Dylan’s hand slipped under the back of his shirt and moved over his skin. Circles. Dylan had this thing about circles. "You still going to rub my belly now and then?"

Dylan’s smile grew slowly, spreading to the small lines around his eyes. "Hell, yes. But you have got to stop stretching on the command deck. It’s very distracting."

"I keep forgetting," Harper said and kissed him again, a little longer, morning mouth or not. Hell if he minded. Dylan seemed to approve of that and things proceeded merrily in a nonspecifically erotic fashion until Dylan finally managed to work them both of out what little they were wearing. Then, for a regrettably short period of time, things got very intense, if not particularly fancy, and that was very good, too.

Best of all, Dylan brought him coffee in bed, while he was still feeling languid.

"I suppose now I oughtta get off my ass and get back to work," he finally purred, leaning against Dylan’s shoulder and sipping at the steaming contents of his mug.

"That would be a good thing," Dylan said judiciously, but smiled at him sidelong. "You should probably stop by med-deck so Trance can officially sentence you back to work."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, but I think I know if I’m over whatever the hell it was they cooked up."

"I think so, too, but it doesn’t pay to piss off the medical officer. Especially when it’s time for immunizations."

Harper’s gaze went unfocused briefly. "I wonder if there’s a way to immunize against Magog ahead of time."

Quick, sharp look, and Dylan frowned. "I’ll mention it to Rommie. I know there’s a reason that nanobots have never worked as a prophylactic measure, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what it is."

"Maybe the spawn have defenses from the get-go." Harper shuddered, looked at the fading pink line down his chest and belly. "It’s really over. They’re really gone?"

"They’re really gone." Dylan’s voice was very soft. "Thank whatever god or divinity there might be."

"And you. And Rommie. And Trance." He nudged Dylan, who suddenly looked... shaky. "Hey." A little alarmed.

Dylan carefully put his mug on the table next to the bed, pulled Harper into a hug than didn’t ease Harper’s alarm. "No thanks to me." Dylan’s voice was hoarse in his ear. "No thanks to me at all, dammit." 

"Hey." Harper hugged back, unaccountably frightened. "The hell. You and Rommie figured out how to do it."

Dylan shook his head, but smiled when Harper drew back. "I just pointed her in the right direction."

Unsettled, Harper poked a finger at Dylan’s chest. "Excuse me, but isn’t this a good thing?"

A more genuine smile this time. "Hell, yes!"

He studied Dylan, tried to figure out what lay behind that smile. "Dylan--"

"This is better than a good thing." Dylan’s thumb rubbed Harper’s cheekbone for a second. "This is an incredibly good thing." Almost tenderly.

It eased the sudden knot in his gut that had nothing to do with Magog spawn and everything to do with wondering where he stood. "Yeah?"

Dylan kissed him again. "I hope to hell you don’t have to ask." A little tart, a little more Dylanish.

Harper grinned, relieved. "Just checking. No regrets?"

Dylan’s eyes widened slightly. "About this? Are you insane? Maybe only that it took several million Magog to make me face myself, you idiot."

"Ooooh, sweet talker." But he felt happy again, felt warmed. "Cool. Wanna share my shower? I really need to get to work before my boss thinks I’m malingering."

That got him a crooked grin that went all the way to Dylan’s eyes. "Absolutely."

And even if he was still a little unsettled, he rolled off the bed. 

He’d get to the bottom of what was bothering Dylan. It might take stealth and cunning, but hey, he had plenty of skill at both.

And now he had plenty of time.

  


* * *

It was beyond a relief to have Harper feeling like himself again, and that went beyond merely having the virus finally burn itself out. For Dylan, it included watching Harper stand in front of the mirror, examining the fading incision scar, it included watching Harper eat with normal appetite, and sleep without the regularly scheduled nightmares about movement in his belly.

It included seeing a renewed energy and playfulness, both unshadowed by dread. 

So why, Dylan asked himself, some ten days later, was _he_ now having moments of panic when his crewmembers, particularly Harper, were out of his sight?

This certainly wouldn’t do, completely aside from the fact that it was unsettling to him personally. It would, he rather suspected, drive Harper, among others, completely crazy and completely away, and controlling it, hiding it, was going to end up driving _him_ completely crazy, period.

Rommie, he was sure, was aware that her captain was behaving uncharacteristically; she could hardly fail to notice that he checked everyone’s whereabouts with absurd regularity. So far, she hadn’t challenged him on it, which meant either that he was still managing to pass for mostly normal, or else that she was biding her time. He wondered if there was an algorithm that decided how many times she tallied Dylan oddities before she relieved him of duty, and was brooding on that when Harper popped in, freshly off-shift.

"Hey, you look down. Bad news?" 

Hastily, Dylan rearranged his expression. "Just tired and wondering when you were going to be finished."

Harper promptly climbed into his lap and kissed him, fingers threaded into Dylan’s hair. "Can’t rush the nova bomb thing." Comfortable tone. "Did you eat?"

"Waiting for you." He linked his fingers at the small of Harper’s back. "What sounds good?"

"Whatever." Careless tone, but Harper’s expression wasn’t careless. "You okay?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Certainly. Why?"

"You’re driving Beka nuts." Harper grimaced. "Okay, so I’m not Mr. Tact."

"To say the least," Dylan told him dryly. "How am I driving her crazy?" Although he rather thought he knew.

"She says you keep checking up on her." Harper managed to suggest that he disavowed any understanding of Beka’s complaint. 

Dylan’s stomach did a lazy roll. "Ah. Well. I suppose I am, but it’s not just her, I’m checking up on all of you. Not checking up, more like checking in."

Harper nodded, but his gaze was sharp. Not for the first time, Dylan felt faint amusement; woe betide those who dismissed Harper as too self-involved or superficial for close observation. It hadn’t taken him long to understand that at least one half of Harper’s breezy attitude and semi-insolence was nothing more than camouflage, protective coloration. Leaning in, he kissed Harper’s mouth, briefly preventing whatever comment Harper was about to make.

He didn’t kid himself that it was anything more than a respite; Harper was fierce with people he cared about, and somehow, somehow he’d gotten to that privileged circle. That knowledge, more than anything else, made him deepen the kiss as far as Harper would let him.

Which turned out to be deeper than he’d expected; Harper tipped his head back to give Dylan access to his throat. "You’re not getting out of this discussion," he said, a little breathlessly. "But I can get behind distraction for the moment."

Despite his equally fierce desire not to have to own up, Dylan grinned against Harper’s jaw. "Well, or we could just get it over, I guess."

Harper wriggled, a distraction indeed. "I bet you always do the really nasty jobs first just to get them out of the way."

"Guilty."

"I’m worried about you."

Dylan straightened. "I’m just off-balance. It’s hardly surprising, given everything that’s happened."

"You aren’t sleeping all that well." Harper straightened, too, put his arms around Dylan’s neck. "Yeah, you didn’t think I noticed, I know, but I have."

"I’m listening to you breathe," Dylan admitted. "I sleep, I just wake up a lot."

"And listen to me breathe." Worried look. "I’m okay. Right? I mean, there’s nothing you and Trance and Rommie have kept from me for my own good." 

"God help us if we tried." Dylan managed a smile. "No, I wouldn’t do that to you. I might ask Rommie to monitor you without telling you, but, god, Seamus, this is your life, I wouldn’t do that to you."

Faint flicker of relief. "I didn’t think so. So why’re you freaking out now?"

Dylan sighed, leaned back. "Maybe because I can?"

Harper’s eyebrows slanted downward. "Run that by again?"

Dylan closed his eyes briefly. "Because it’s over. Because I don’t have to deal with horrible eventualities as if they have to be prevented." Wearily. "I don’t know. If I knew, it wouldn’t be happening."

Harper’s fingertips grazed his cheekbone. "Dylan, I’m okay. Beka’s okay. Tyr’s okay. Trance is okay--well, as okay as Trance ever is, and how the hell we’d know she wasn’t kind of escapes me. Even Rev is okay."

Dylan nodded, suddenly exhausted. "To be honest, I’m having some trouble dealing with Rev. I understand that Beka trusts him, but...." He shrugged.

Harper went very grave. "Yeah. I get that. I mean, mostly I’m okay with Rev. But... seeing him on the world ship was pretty--let’s say my view of Rev shifted a little and I’ve been trying to work through it. Although he did kill that fucker in charge."

Dylan couldn’t begin to imagine what that had been like. "He fasted for three weeks without saying anything. He could easily have gone feral if he was going to, but I can’t help but find that all very unsettling. I’ve ordered him to inform me if he feels another penitential fast is required."

Harper traced the curve of Dylan’s ear. "I think he’s still messed up about killing." Uninflected.

"Then he’d better go work out his crisis somewhere else," Dylan said sharply, "Because killing in defense of your crewmates isn’t exactly the same thing as ravening and raping and devouring just for the pure hell of it."

"It’s not just for the hell of it. It’s to destroy our civilization, such as it is." Briefly, Harper’s gaze went distant. "Boy, your Commonwealth must have driven them fucking crazy. No wonder they worked so hard to make it fall."

For a minute, it was hard to get a breath. "Brandenberg."

"Yeah." Harper leaned in, hugged him hard. "Okay, let me figure out what sounds good to eat, and then I’ll loll around on your bed decoratively and distract you." Brief kiss on Dylan’s temple. "And you can tell me what, if anything, I can do." He added the last very softly, but held Dylan’s gaze.

For a moment, it was hard to see. He blinked hard to clear his vision, managed a wavery smile and gently poked Harper’s ribs. "Just keep breathing."

Harper’s mouth touched his very lightly and Harper got out of his lap. "First thing I prescribe is a bottle of that stout you like so much."

The lump in Dylan’s throat eased. "You need to figure out how to brew some of that for me."

"Oh ho, now you approve of my hobby?" Wicked grin, and they were at least pretending things were back to normal.

He hoped it didn’t have to be a pretense for very long.

  


* * *

"Look," Harper said abruptly, encountering Beka in the officers’ mess the next day. "He’s not trying to bug you, it’s just... it’s just his coping thing. Checking in on people to make sure they’re all okay." He wasn’t exactly comfortable trying to explain Dylan to Beka; for one thing, he figured staying out of those little interpersonal differences meant they’d work it out sooner, but Beka was going to get snappish and bitchy if she didn’t get it, and sometimes, as dearly as he loved her, Beka could be tres clueless. "Just making sure that we’re all breathing, yadda yadda."

Beka, clearly on her first cup of coffee, blinked at him. "Say what?"

He flushed, filled himself a mug. "Sorry. Dylan. He’s not trying to bug you, he’s just coping. It’s like you, um, checking all the systems on the Maru twenty gazillion times."

"That’s just good sense, Dylan and Rommie put the Maru through a helluva lot." Beka scowled, but he could tell, she was thinking about it, putting all the pieces together. "So this is Dylan’s version of needing to nail everything down after everything all went to hell, if I’m hearing you right."

Relieved, Harper nodded, sat down and kicked a chair out for Beka. "Yeah, exactly.

She looked at the chair, sighed, and sat down. "I hate to break this to you, but _his_ behavior isn’t exactly normal for Captain Rational and Idealistic. In fact, none of his behavior has been exactly normal, and while I don’t want you to take this personally, Seamus, I’m including his attachment to you."

"Oh, thanks."

Apologetic look. "Not that you don’t have your charms, mind, it’s just that Captain Rational wouldn’t have touched a crewmember in the past, you can bet the Maru on that. Well, you know what I mean," she added, when he gave her a long look, "Not touched, but--"

"Right." He had to admit that was true, or at least that he thought it was true. "So, everybody sort of had a near death experience, Beka. People change."

"Mmmhmm." She considered her coffee for a moment. "Yeah, I get that. Believe me."

They sat in silence for a minute.

Beka shook her head, frowned again. "So what the hell am I supposed to do about it? Act like it’s normal that he thinks he’s running a kindergarten and has to know where we are every minute?"

Harper shrugged. "He’s gotta work it through, just like the rest of it. Just don’t get snarky, okay? I mean, you didn’t snark at me when I was freaking out."

She looked at him silently for a very long moment, and her eyes were just a little too bright. "Much," she finally agreed.

He grinned. "Much."

"Okay, so I’ll try to keep my own coping thing from including biting Dylan’s head off. I can’t promise to treat him with delicate care, Seamus, he’s a big boy."

He snickered. "Boy, howdy."

Beka rolled her eyes. "Too Much Information." But she suddenly leaned forward. "On the other hand--"

"Hey, none of your business." Harper smirked, pretended to duck as she pretended to swing at him. "No, I get that, Beka, I do. I mean, don’t get weird, just... maybe cut him the same amount of slack you gave me, okay?"

Her eyes got bright again. "Okay. I’ll do my best. Now Tyr’s another story--you going to have this little talk with Tyr?"

Harper rolled his eyes. "How stupid do you think I am? ‘Oh, by the way, Tyr, you can successfully drive Dylan to a breakdown if you do X, Y and Z’. Nope, not a chance."

Beka laughed ruefully. "Good point. Very good point. He’s one sneaky bastard."

"Yeah, but he’s sort of our sneaky bastard," Harper said, feeling an obscure need to defend Tyr at one level or another. "Let’s just say handing him the keys ain’t exactly good planning."

Beka laughed again. "Nothing wrong with your brain, Seamus."

"Or with my belly," he told her and got up. "Okay, time to get to work."

"Don’t forget to check in." Dryly.

He flipped her off, scooted out to the corridor before she could get up and smack him. Discretion was definitely the better part of valor, when it came to Beka.

  


* * *

"Rommie, give me a rundown on everyone’s location." Dylan managed to keep his expression uninformative, even cheerful, but the ship’s avatar hesitated, gave him an assessing look before answering.

"Harper is in machine shop 5, Tyr is currently exercising, Beka is finishing her morning meal, Trance is in hydroponics, and Rev is apparently meditating." She arched an eyebrow. "I’ve noticed that you feel the need to be certain of everyone’s activities and location, Dylan. Is there something I should be aware of? Have you reason to distrust anyone?"

"Other than the usual? Not that I’m aware, no." He kept his expression bland. "I just like to know where they are. Busy hands are happy hands."

Rommie studied him. "You have reason to believe that someone’s shirking their duties?"

"No." He sighed, rubbed his forehead. "I just like to know where my people are."

Her expression didn’t change. "This is a recent development."

"Not really. It’s merely the intensity of my interest that’s changed." He said it dryly. 

  


* * *

"I need to talk to you about Rev," Beka said, and Dylan, who had just started eating dinner before Beka had chimed for entry, blinked.

"Hey, Beka," Harper said nonchalantly. "Want something to eat?"

Beka glanced at Harper absently. "No thanks, Harper. Anyway, I’m worried." Beka folded her arms. "I thought he was just feeling... subdued, since Harper got sick, but he hasn’t left his quarters in the last twenty-four hours."

"He’s meditated that long before," Dylan said, with a calm he didn’t quite feel. "Is he fasting again?"

"Not that I know about. I asked Rommie to keep an eye on that, after--" Vague gesture. "And she says he’s been eating a little less, but still not fasting. It’s just--he’s been avoiding everyone." Beka frowned, paced a little. "I really expected him to look in on Harper, but when he didn’t, I just figured... maybe he was thinking about Harper, feeling uncomfortable. If you get my drift."

Dylan’s stomach tightened. That might have been reasonable, except that he hadn’t seen a great deal of sensitivity on Rev’s part to Harper’s condition other than an offer to pray for Harper. Harper had evidently taken that at face value, but when he’d mentioned it to Dylan, Dylan had not.

He was having a great deal of trouble taking Rev at face value at all these days, and Beka’s unyielding trust of the Magog was something he resented on Harper’s behalf. At least he thought it was on Harper’s behalf, but the darker part of his mind sometimes wondered if Beka would defend him or trust him half as much. Ever.

Which was as indicative as anything of his tangled state of mind lately. "What do you suggest?" His own suggestion would be to kick Rev’s ass, although he wasn’t crazy enough to think that would really be useful.

"I’m thinking maybe it’s time for Rev to take some leave." Beka frowned at Harper. "What?"

Harper was eyeing her. "You’re interrupting Dylan’s dinner, so either finish up quick or sit down and eat."

Dylan stared at him. "What--hey, I’m eating."

Beka started to laugh softly. "Payback’s a bitch, Dylan. Get used to it."

Harper smirked.

He felt as if he’d entered the conversation late. "Uh, yes, I think leave might be a good idea. I’ll--"

"No, no," Beka said hastily, "I’ll bring it up with him. I’m just on my way there, don’t get up."

Dylan, who had only shifted his chair slightly, looked back at Harper, only to find an innocent expression that was, without a doubt, completely dubious. "Beka, you--"

"Am the first officer. I are the first officer?" She grinned. "I’ll talk to him, Dylan. Now, if he doesn’t buy it, then I’ll bring the big gun in."

Harper arched an eyebrow at Dylan. "Problem?"

"No." He felt suddenly as if he’d gotten caught in a shell game and missed the moves. "Let me know if you have any trouble with Rev. Immediately."

Beka frowned faintly at him, but nodded. "I’m sure I won’t. Relax a little, you look tired."

Dylan frowned back, sighed. "Well, we did get a great deal done today." Grudging confession.

Beka flashed him a grin, nodded, and then was gone.

He looked at Harper. "Bossy git, aren’t you?"

Harper gave him a long look; he wondered if he was the only one who could see the vulnerability underlying the cocky attitude. "Yeah? Well, you need to eat, too."

"Paybacks are hell." Dylan smiled, hopefully reassuringly.

Harper smiled uncertainly. "Yeah? You did sort of push, you know."

"I know. And I personally don’t regret it, not when you burned everything off with that fever." He smiled again, a little more naturally and went back to his food. Which was fine, but he wasn’t particularly hungry, not after the discussion with Beka.

"You’re really having trouble with Rev." Softly, tentatively.

"Yeah." He sighed, pushed his plate away. "I should go with her. Beka trusts Rev." He looked back at Harper. "Do you?"

Harper’s gaze went distant. "Honestly? I can’t say that I ever totally trusted him before, exactly. I mean, I did, but I didn’t. If you know what I mean."

It pretty well summed up Dylan’s own view of Rev at the outset, and his willingness to set instinctive reaction aside because it was apparent that Rev was... civilized and a Wayist. "And now?"

Harper shrugged. "I told you, I’m having a little more trouble. Seeing him kill on the worldship--I mean, it’s hard not to be glad he did, considering, but it was.... I called him Rev and he said he was, um, whatever the hell his Magog name was." Harper shivered suddenly. "For a minute, I wasn’t sure--there was any Rev left. So I don’t know. I mean, I always got along okay with Rev, I didn’t exactly think of him as Magog. But seeing that--it’s hard. I don’t know what to tell you. I guess I’m still there, I do and I don’t. But maybe I don’t a little more now." 

Dylan nodded.

"Trance has been worried about him, I know that. But she hasn’t exactly told me why." Harper sighed, poked his fork at his vegetables. "And I haven’t asked."

Worried about Rev. Sleeping rage stirred and Dylan swallowed hard. "About Rev," he said, a little hoarsely. "As in worried about Rev’s behavior, or worried that there’s something wrong with him?"

Harper blinked at him. "That there’s something wrong with him." He looked at Dylan worriedly. "You okay?"

"I’m fine." He reached out, ruffled Harper’s already spiky hair. "Now who isn’t eating?"

Quick, fugitive grin. "Yeah, yeah, I will if you will."

Dylan picked his fork back up. "Deal."

But Harper studied him a minute longer. "So, if you don’t have any work you have to do after dinner, the doctor has a relaxing prescription for you. Or," a little uncertainly, "I could take off and give you some space."

Dylan frowned. "Try it. I’ve already told Rommie to lock you in at the first sign of escape."

Harper blinked, hooted. "Kinky. Anything else I should know about you?"

"What’s the prescription?"

"No more worrying for at least one night. The after-dinner refreshment of your choice, a nice luxurious shower with the bath attendant of your choice, and then the holo or ancient vid of your choice." Harper grinned. "Of course, the bath attendant of your choice had better be me."

Dylan grinned back. "Good, then I don’t have to lock you in."

"After dinner," Harper said, eyes glinting. "Okay?"

"Deal."

"All right, the Doctor is _in_."

And with that, Dylan found he had some appetite after all.

The shower was luxurious, the Alderan stout was chilled, and Harper was... Harper. Warm and playful and entirely willing to distract Dylan and be distracted, and if there was anything less resistible than a distractingly playful distracted Harper, Dylan had yet to encounter it.

Lying tangled together after, he found he was the only one bothering to watch the vid Harper had selected; Harper had dozed with his face pressed against Dylan’s shoulder, and that was better than fine, even if he was apparently in the middle of having some sort of emotional or mental crisis. He shifted Harper and pulled him a little closer, smiling senselessly at the vidscreen. 

The thing to remember in all this was that they had survived, they were making some progress on building the Commonwealth, everyone else--except perhaps for Rev--seemed to be finding their balance again, and whatever Trance was, she was apparently benevolent, as benevolent as he’d wanted to believe. And Harper was fine, fine, fine. No Magog spawn. No more night terrors. No phantom pains or movement in the belly, no waking up from dreams of being eating alive, just warm and alive and, god, with him and apparently trusting enough to be held in sleep.

He needed to focus on those things, and goddamned well find his own balance. It would just take some focus.

And just as he made that resolution, Rommie said, "Dylan, there’s a problem."

"What kind of problem?" He eased away from Harper, who muttered something and rolled over. 

"Beka is in Rev Bem’s quarters, and Rev Bem’s physical signs suggest that there may be danger to Beka."

He was out of bed in a heartbeat, and Harper, who had clearly only been dozing, was up nearly as quickly, pulling on his discarded pants.

He pulled his own on, yanked a shirt over his head, found his weapons and headed out, aware of Harper cursing behind him; the floor was cold on bare feet, but he didn’t want to take the time to screw with boots, he’d already spent precious seconds. "Rommie, what’s happening?"

"I’ve asked Tyr to meet you there. Beka is still calm, and Rev is becoming more agitated. I’m on my way there, but I’m reluctant to interrupt at the moment."

He could understand that. If Rev was behaving unpredictably, there was no telling what Rommie’s sudden appearance might trigger. Harper was pelting up behind him, and they both rounded the corner as Tyr opened Rev’s door.

Tyr gave them a grim look, went in ahead.

When Dylan reached the door, Beka was facing off with Tyr. "What the hell are you doing here--"

"My decision," Dylan interrupted. "Everything all right in here?"

Beka’s expression was perplexed. "Well," grudgingly, "Rev doesn’t seem to agree with us that he would benefit from a retreat to settle his mind."

Rev was pacing on the other side of the room, but turned back toward them, baring his teeth and growling.

The hair on the back of Dylan’s neck made a very serious attempt to stand up. "Calm down, Rev," he said, command voice, and it made Rev pause. Harper edged toward Beka. "Hey, Rev, it’s just me, come on." 

Rev looked at Harper, but didn’t answer.

Dylan wished Harper would step back and shifted slightly. Tyr stood just to the other side of Beka, and Dylan noted that he’d drawn his gun. He needed to find a way to de-escalate this pronto. "Rommie, can you have Trance join us here?"

Rev made a low sound, not quite a growl, not quite a snarl. 

"Rev," Dylan said, still using his command voice. "I understand you’re apparently upset, but take a step back and calm down. This is a good example of why we think a retreat may be in order; your penitential fasting is another. You’ve got issues that you need to resolve and as a Wayist, a retreat is the obvious answer. If you’d care to talk to me about your point of view, I’m willing to listen."

Rev took a step forward, but was silent. It was so damned difficult to read Magog features, Dylan wasn’t sure if the silence was a good thing or a bad thing. 

"Rev." Warningly.

Harper edged closer to Beka, lifted his hand to reach out, and then things seemed to happen very, very quickly. Tyr shifted slightly forward, Harper reached toward Beka’s sleeve, and Rev lunged toward her. Dylan was conscious of moving to intercept, too slowly, too goddamn slowly, and Harper made a shocked sound, tried to grab Beka’s sleeve and missed.

Raking claws, and Beka’s shocked expression would be with Dylan until the day he died, as would the pain and betrayal that replaced the shock.

He aimed, and Rev’s chest exploded as Tyr fired first. Only then did he hear Harper crying out Beka’s name, only then did the universe slow down enough to take a breath. Beka, her shirt, her torso bright with blood, and Harper, holding on for dear life, and he was there, holding on with Harper. Too much blood, and it pulsed at the side of her throat and shoulder, he could feel it against his palm when he applied pressure. 

Harper leaned in, panting. "Rommie, we need help _now_!"

"Beka, stay with me, come on, stay with me." Dylan pressed harder. "Tyr, dammit, find something I can use to even the pressure on this." Before he’d finished speaking, a dark hand lifted his, slid a folded cloth beneath and pressed Dylan’s hand back down.

Tyr’s expression was grave. "I’m going to lift her. Keep the pressure on. We can’t wait."

Dylan nodded grimly. "Count it down."

Tyr slid his arms beneath Beka, who moaned, eyelids fluttering. So fucking much blood, and Dylan pressed firmly as Tyr said, "One."

Harper stood up, moved back so Tyr could lift. Dylan nodded approval at him as Tyr said, "Two."

"I’m ready," Dylan said tightly.

"Three," Tyr said and lifted; Dylan rose with him smoothly, keeping the pressure on. Even with that, the cloth was turning scarlet far too rapidly, but he and Tyr had both been soldiers long enough that they made it smoothly out into the corridor.

Trance and Rommie met them halfway with a gurney; it made it easier and faster and Harper trotted alongside, talking non-stop to Beka, hectoring and badgering and promising he’d tell her things he hadn’t before.

Beka’s eyelids fluttered again, briefly, as they shifted her onto the medical bed and let Rommie and Trance take over. "Dylan," faintly.

He leaned over, touched her forehead. "Easy, easy. Just let Trance take care of you, Beka."

"Rev--" She cried out as Trance did something. "Oh, God, Rev--"

"I know." Although he had no idea what she was trying to say. "Beka, just rest. Let Trance fix you up." He gave Trance a long look.

Trance’s expression was grave, but she nodded in reassurance.

It nearly undid him. He touched Beka’s forehead again. "You’re going to be fine."

Her eyelids fluttered again, closed. "...your word onnit?" Very faintly.

"Absolutely," he said clearly, hoping she heard him.

"She’s under," Trance said unnecessarily. "Now let me work."

He backed away, bumped into Harper, who stood frozen, Beka’s blood on his hands and bare chest. "She’s going to be fine," he told Harper fiercely and put an arm around him; met Tyr’s gaze without evasion or embarrassment, nodded. "Thanks to Tyr." _He’d_ been too fucking slow. For once, he was grateful for Tyr’s Nietzschean sensibilities.

Tyr nodded back, gestured. Dylan led Harper out of the surgery into med-deck proper. "Good work," he told Tyr hoarsely.

Another nod. "Is any of that his?" A nod at Harper, who still seemed dazed.

"No, it’s not," Harper said, suddenly harsh. "And I’m standing here, Tyr, so you don’t need to talk over me."

Tyr blinked. "I thought you were still in shock."

"Why the hell would _I_ be in shock?" Harper snarled, "I wasn’t the one that got ripped open." He started to shake, and Dylan tightened his arm. "I was just standing there like a goddamn fool watching!"

Dylan closed his eyes briefly. It was a sentiment he knew very well, but Harper wasn’t to blame. "It happened too fast," he said flatly. "If Tyr hadn’t already drawn his weapon, God knows what else Rev would have done."

The shaking got worse. "He just got her with claws. He just got her with claws. Right? That’s all."

"That’s all," Tyr said loudly. "You needn’t be concerned, she wasn’t infested, child."

"I’m not a child," Harper hissed. Blinked hard and then let Dylan hold on to him. "She’s gonna be okay. She’s gonna be okay."

Tyr’s hand came up, touched Harper’s hair lightly. "Yes, we got her here in time." 

Feeling gratitude to Tyr was not unlike drinking something corrosive, but Dylan nodded again, silently thanking Tyr for the uncharacteristic gentleness in his voice.

Harper’s shaking eased. "I’m good, I’m good. I just-- I have to get cleaned up." 

There was a thin note in Harper’s voice that Dylan really, really didn’t like. "There’s a shower here on med-deck. I’ll go and get you some clothes."

Harper’s look eased the sense of corrosion in his soul. "Thanks."

He released Harper, steered him toward the shower, and then let him go.

"A shower wouldn’t be amiss for you, either." Tyr’s eyes assessed him. 

Looking for weakness? Bitter laughter threatened, but he bit it back, kept his best poker face in place. "And for you."

Tyr wasn’t exactly clean of blood, and the hell of it was that Dylan wasn’t at all certain that it was all Beka’s.

Tyr looked down at himself as if surprised, nodded. "Good point."

The surprise was a welcome sign of... not weakness, but humanity, despite what Nietzscheans believed about themselves. It let Dylan keep that face on until he was in his own shower.

It was a good thing he couldn’t tell if it was the hot spray from the shower on his face or something else.

  


* * *

Beka was so damn pale, even though Trance said she was going to be fine. The wounds were nothing more than thin pink lines, like the line that went from Harper’s own breastbone down past his navel. Well, his wasn’t quite as pink any more, it had already faded to nearly normal color. Beka’s would, too, but it was still hard to see, especially the one that curved down the side of her throat and disappeared under the medical gown.

The scary thing was that she was still out, eight hours after the surgery that had saved her life. Harper stared fixed at the monitors to reassure himself, and to keep himself from dozing. He’d been tired when Rommie had summoned them; now he felt as if his bones were filled with something corrosive.

Dylan came in with two cups of coffee; Harper turned to him gladly, noticing how tired Dylan looked. "Thanks," he said softly. "You need to get some sleep."

Faint smile. "So do you."

Harper edged his chair closer to Dylan’s. "I don’t know how to feel." Whispered it. "I mean, Rev was a friend. But that--" He shuddered. "That wasn’t Rev."

"No, I’m inclined to agree." Dylan handed him one of the cups. "She might be out for quite a while, Seamus." He lifted his chin toward the bed.

"I’m waiting." He still felt guilty that he’d been asleep when she’d come out of the Flash-induced coma. "But you don’t have to, Dylan. You were here for her last time."

"And I’ll be here again." Mild look. "Are _you_ all right?"

He knew what Dylan was asking. And even though it was scary as hell to admit, he shrugged. "I guess so. I mean, I know I’m freaked out. But like I said, I don’t know how to feel, I don’t know how I feel, and I’m not sure I’m ever going to know." His mouth felt dry suddenly and he took a sip of the coffee. "It brought too much back." Faintly.

Dylan’s arm went around his shoulders. "Yeah. I know what you mean." Somber expression.

Jeez, of course he did. Dylan, Beka had told him, had nearly died, had stopped breathing on command deck. The thought made him shudder again and he leaned into Dylan silently. He’d been so preoccupied with what he’d thought was his impending doom that he’d nearly forgotten that. "I guess," he said huskily, "I guess I’m glad Tyr’s a suspicious son of a bitch."

Dylan’s fingers curled around his upper arm. "Oh, yes." Heartfelt.

Beka stirred then, turned her head and peered blearily at them. "Ow."

Harper was up and at the bedside almost instantly, Dylan close behind. "Hey." His throat ached, and he felt completely inadequate, but dammit, he took hold of her wrist delicately. "Hey, boss, don’t scare me like that again, okay?"

Faint twitch of a smile, but her eyes moved to Dylan. "Rev--"

"He’s dead." Dylan said it bluntly. "I’m sorry. Tyr acted and I have to admit, I’m glad he did. I don’t know what else we could have done." 

Beka’s mouth thinned and her eyes got too bright. "I don’t understand what happened." Hoarsely. "He’s been with me for so long, he’s never--" And then she looked away, blinking hard.

Harper squeezed her wrist gently. "Beka--it wasn’t your fault. Something happened to him on the world ship." He swallowed hard. "Not just killing, but that red-eyed thing. I don’t know, but he was--he wasn’t Rev when we first saw him." Dylan’s hand settled on his shoulder, somehow easing the ache. 

She shook her head. "Maybe." Almost a whisper. "God, I can’t believe it." She brought her free hand up to her face, covered her eyes. "I--I can’t."

"I know." Dylan’s voice was gentle. "You aren’t the only one feeling that way."

Beka’s hand dropped and she gave him a long, anguished look. "He was my friend."

Dylan nodded, squeezed Harper’s shoulder. "I’m sorry, Beka."

She took in a ragged breath, looked back at Harper and tried to smile. "I’m glad you’re okay, Seamus. Once was enough."

Harper had to blink hard to clear his vision, slid his hand down to squeeze Beka’s fingers gently. "I’m glad _you’re_ okay, boss." Thickly. "You just get some rest now, let yourself get back on your feet again."

Beka squeezed back. "I will." She looked back at Dylan. "You both look like hell. Maybe you should do the same."

"I’ll see to it." 

"I see she’s awake," Trance said, with false brightness. "Beka, I’ve brought you something to drink. Are you hungry?"

Dylan stepped back, drew Harper with him to let Trance get to Beka’s bedside. "You," he said softly to Harper, "Go on ahead to bed. I’ll be there very shortly. Okay?"

Harper’s head ached. "Okay." He sighed. "Don’t be too long, okay?"

"I won’t." Brief smile of reassurance. "I promise."

If Dylan promised, Harper thought wearily, it was true. After all, wasn’t he alive and spawn-free? Briefly, briefly, he leaned into Dylan’s hug, then headed out. Maybe things wouldn’t seem so bleak after he’d slept.

  


* * *

Tyr leaned against the wall of the corridor. "So, are you really sorry?" Mild tone.

Dylan laughed bitterly. "What do you think?"

Tyr considered that. "I think you regret the necessity."

"You’re learning." Thin smile and Dylan started down the corridor. Tyr fell into step beside him silently. He stopped. "Tyr, I’m only checking to make sure that the cleanup in Rev’s, ah, quarters is done."

"What did you do with his body?" Tyr arched an eyebrow.

He felt his jaw tense. "It’s in stasis. Whatever I feel, he was a member of this crew, and a member of Beka’s crew for much, much longer. If she feels the need for a memorial service of some kind-- I’m not going to have her recover and find out that I’ve jettisoned the body."

Tyr appeared, astonishingly, to approve. "And even the little professor may wish to say farewell."

That surprised him. "I wouldn’t have expected that reaction from you, Tyr." Dryly.

Tyr shrugged. "Rituals of loss are common to all sentient beings. Except, perhaps, Magog." 

Dylan’s stomach knotted. Rev had been a Wayist, Rev had frequently given him sound advice, so what the hell was wrong with him that he felt only vague relief and worry about Beka and Harper. Trance--well, Trance was often unfathomable, he wasn’t sure what she felt, what she’d ever felt for Rev. "At any rate, I want his quarters cleaned and cleared before Beka’s up and around. I don’t want her seeing her blood or his."

"I believe that it’s been done already," Tyr said, and started walking again when Dylan did.

He was doomed, that was all. And he was developing one helluva headache. Arguing with Tyr was hardly productive, it was better just to get things finished with his unwelcome presence. 

Rommie had attended to everything. There wasn’t even a hint of the smell of blood in the air, and the room was pristine, all traces of Rev removed from it. Dylan took a few steps forward, flashing horribly on the instant when Rev had lunged toward Beka and Harper, on his inability to move quickly enough to stop Rev. "Too slow," he said out loud.

"What?" Tyr tilted his head back to regard Dylan narrowly.

"I was too slow." Irritably. "I’m glad you were there." That corrosive sensation again, all the way down to his gut. "It was good work."

"I already had my weapon drawn," Tyr said, eyebrows slanting together. "I didn’t notice any lack of speed in your response."

Dylan shrugged. "It’s immaterial. It’s done." Flatly. "And so is this. Good." He turned back toward the door, and Tyr put out a hand, frowned more deeply.

"Surely, you aren’t faulting yourself because _you_ didn’t kill him." Sudden, ironic expression. "Think of it this way, if you _had_ killed him, it would have complicated loyalties _and_ your personal life considerably."

Dylan kept his face expressionless with an effort. "Loyalties?"

"Captain Valentine’s, for one." One corner of Tyr’s mouth lifted slightly. "She held Rev Bem in high esteem. And I do believe that Mr. Harper also thought very well of him."

Dylan made a noncommittal sound in his throat. "You think she might have considered mutiny again?"

This time, Tyr did smile. "I don’t know. I suspect she’s wiser than that. We know you better now."

Dylan snorted, shook his head. "Again, it’s immaterial, it’s done. And it was well done. Frankly, I’m not sure what happened to Rev on the world ship, but it seems to have done a great deal more damage than anyone suspected."

"I told you, he was feral." Tyr’s humour vanished. "I wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t turn on us after he’d killed. I was preparing for that, in fact. Instead, he quoted Dante and returned to himself, at least on the surface. "

The surface. Dylan’s stomach rolled again. "I’m going to get some rest. "

Tyr studied him for another long moment. "I think that’s wise." Quietly. Seriously. 

He snorted again. He’d already had that moment of unreality, back on the Maru on the ice world. If Tyr was worried about him, it was time for him to watch Tyr one helluva lot more closely. Of course, watching Tyr any more closely, and he’d know far more about Tyr’s personal habits than he cared to know. The idea brought a grim smile, and he nodded, left what had once been Rev’s quarters in favor of his own.

Harper stirred when he got into bed, rolled over against him and put one arm over his chest. "You okay?" Muzzily.

It was ridiculous, but the question made it hard to breathe, to see. He cupped the back of Harper’s head, and rubbed the short, soft hair at Harper’s nape. Finally managed to answer. "Yeah. How about you?"

"I will be." Harper burrowed against his shoulder. "I will be. Count on it." Soft exhalation and Harper slipped under again.

But it was hard to see again, and so he closed his eyes. Held on to Harper with far more need and weakness than he could reasonably accept in himself and was glad Harper was asleep.

He had to pull himself together. Somehow. 

  


* * *

Dylan was still asleep when Harper woke again, feeling at least marginally human again. Even in sleep, Dylan looked tired, worn down; it gave Harper a pang of guilt, knowing that some of that had come from seeing him through his own crisis. Leaning up on one elbow, he studied Dylan, marveling at how very dear that face had become in the last year. Not that he’d expected anything to ever come of it, not that he’d ever expected this. He hadn’t even allowed himself to consider it. For one thing, at first, he’d been one of the marauders that Dylan had recruited, so he’d figured that even if Dylan was gender blind, his lack of height, his questionable background, his smart mouth, and insubordinate attitude would nix it. Later, he’d realized that Dylan had that whole responsibility and duty thing so ingrained that he’d no more dally with a crewmember than he’d set himself on fire. Well, he thought he’d realized it, but there he had blessedly been wrong. 

Somewhere along in there, respect and liking had turned to outright affection and Dylan had become one of _his_ , so to speak. Captain Terrific. Smiling, he leaned in and very carefully brushed his mouth over Dylan’s temple before untangling himself.

Dylan, naturally, made a sound in his sleep anyway, stirred a little. You didn’t get to be captain in the High Guard by not paying attention even when you slept, Harper thought, lunatic hilarity, and he leaned back in, kissed Dylan’s ear. "I’m just going to check on Beka, go back to sleep. I’ll be back for breakfast."

Dylan’s eyes didn’t open, but he made another sound, this one comfortable, and his arm loosened.

Sweet. Damn. He was getting sentimental and mushy and fuck worrying about it, Dylan had kept him sane when the spawn were doing their little thing inside him. Sane and feeling human and maybe he could do some taking good care of Dylan for a change. If Dylan would let him. He figured his skills at persuasion would work to get rid of any reluctance.

Clean clothes, and he had to swallow a snicker when he saw that Dylan had somehow kidnapped the rest of Harper’s clothes and made room for them in the wardrobe. Not that he was complaining, of course, but if anyone else had done that, he thought he might have run screaming. Near death by your worst nightmare had a way of rearranging priorities.

Dylan had gone back to sleep, had rolled over on his side. Feeling ridiculously fatuous, Harper leaned over, kissed the curve of Dylan’s shoulder. "I’ll be back," he whispered.

And Dylan slept on.

Still smiling like a fool, Harper headed out. Beka was sitting up and eating breakfast and telling Trance she was fine and there wasn’t any reason to keep her on med-deck.

Harper grinned, felt guilty about it. But Beka was, despite her pallor, evidently feeling very Beka-ish. "Hey, boss, you giving Trance a hard time."

Trance grinned at him, took that chance to escape.

Beka looked at him for a long moment, then smiled. "You look better."

"I feel better," he admitted. "You?"

She held up a fork. "Much."

He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down in it. "Good."

Beka regarded him narrowly. "Where’s Dylan?" 

"Still asleep." He felt that pang of guilt again. "He really wore himself out when I was sick, I guess. He’s just out like a light, and I didn’t want to wake him up."

Beka nodded approvingly at him. "Good. If I noticed last night, I figure he had to be totally wiped out."

Harper nodded. "You really doing okay?"

She grimaced, put the fork down. "As well as I can. I still can’t believe what happened. I still can’t believe I didn’t see how close to the edge Rev was getting."

That put a lump in his throat. "I didn’t either, Beka. But now I feel like shit because I did do a lot of avoiding him. It was just hard."

Her expression changed, she reached out her hand. "Hey, Seamus, he understood. I know he did, because I talked to him back... well, back while you were still in med-deck."

That helped a little. Not a lot, but a little. He took her hand, welcoming the human touch, welcoming her warmth. "Whatever he saw, whatever he did on the world ship--that was what did it, Beka. You know that he wouldn’t have done that if he’d been in his right mind."

She squeezed his fingers. "I know, Harper." Sadly. "I know. I’m going to miss him. I still can’t quite believe he’s gone." Her expression went stony. "And it’ll be a cold day in hell before I turn my back on Tyr."

That gave him another pang. "Beka, Tyr--if he hadn’t done it, I think--" He found it hard to breathe all of a sudden. "I think Rev might have gone all the way over the edge. That you might have ended up infested." He couldn’t sit still, had to get up and move. "I wouldn’t want _anyone_ to go through what I did, Beka, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want a friend to go through it." He didn’t even want to wonder whether or not Rev would have gone after him or after Dylan....

Some of the coldness left her eyes. "Oh, God, Harper." And her voice trembled. "I know. I just can’t forgive him." A ragged breath and she swiped at her eyes. "At least, not yet."

He came back to the bed, took hold of her hand again. "I get that. I do. It’s just--I’m so damn glad you’re okay, Beka." His voice cracked upward and that was embarrassing, but she smiled at him, just a little wavery. 

After that, they just talked of harmless subjects, or as harmless as they could find: old times, how they’d met, crazy Bobby and all that old shit, but mostly of the good times, the times when things were flush and Rev had been... Rev. Maybe that was one way of keeping him alive, Harper reckoned, and Trance joined them, and they all traded Rev stories as a kind of wake.

He was feeling sad but good when he left med-deck, even after he ran into Tyr in the officers’ mess. 

"How is Dylan this morning?" Tyr arched an eyebrow at him.

"Sleeping." He eyed Tyr a little nervously. He’d half expected Tyr to make some snarky comments on his relationship with Dylan, but Tyr had been amazingly well behaved. "He was pretty wiped out."

Tyr nodded, took a drink of whatever juice he currently favored. "I’m concerned," he told Harper abruptly.

Harper sighed inwardly. "About?"

"About Dylan." Blunt tone, direct gaze. "I’ve had concerns for sometime that he’s behaving in increasingly self-destructive ways; he’s taken on increasingly dangerous situations."

What the hell? "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"The good captain has never been what anyone would call reckless, but neither has he ever been particularly cautious." Tyr leaned forward, his elbows planted on the table. Faint smile. "I’m not referring to his personal life, child, peace."

That eased _that_ concern, at least, not that he was worried about what Tyr thought about him, particularly. Although it was weird, feeling friendly toward Tyr, he found their shared experience somewhat comforting, if only because he didn’t think he’d made a bad showing overall, post-experience suicidal binges aside. "You know, if you just said directly what you’re worried about, maybe we could cut this conversation time in half."

Brief smirk. "Fair enough. Watch him. I have a feeling things are catching up with him."

He didn’t like Tyr noticing that at the same time that he appreciated Tyr noticing that. Talk about conflicted. "Yeah, well, it’s been an eventful year for him. For all of us."

"Yes, but _we_ weren’t torn away from our entire life and all those who mattered to us at the outset. _We_ didn’t lose all our valued comrades."

"We," Harper added, somewhat acidly, "didn’t have our Nietzschean friend betray us, yeah, I get what you’re saying. And for what it’s worth, I’m watching. I know he’s worn down. I’m trying to get him to relax a little more instead of taking the entire universe on his shoulders. If you’re paying attention, you should also have noticed that he blames himself for us getting infested."

Tyr’s expression went grave. "Yes. He does. He blames himself for a great deal. I fear he may blame himself for Rev, as well."

"You’re probably right." Harper felt sad again. "I’m watching him, Tyr. And I’m watching you." The last escaped unbidden.

Tyr allowed himself a small smile. "If I had intended to betray him, I wouldn’t be discussing this with you."

He sighed. "Yeah, okay." Not that he completely believed that. Tyr rose and left him to think. First things first, he gathered up some supplies for Dylan’s quarters. He had no idea what Dylan’s favorites were, and he wasn’t about to ask Rommie, so he ended getting a cart and hauling one of damn near everything out.

Now, he just had to get Dylan to eat some of it. But there were the fabled Harper powers of persuasion, and since Dylan appeared to find them irresistible, he was going to use that to his advantage. Which thought cheered him up enough that he was smiling to himself as he left the mess with his cart.

  


* * *

He was asleep one moment, and then awake, and his heart was thumping hard. Staring up at the ceiling, he realized that he had no idea where he was. At all. He sat upright suddenly, sweating, swung his legs over the side of the--bed? Yes, it was a bed. Somewhere. Somewhen. 

Okay, deep breaths, start with the important stuff, he was....

His heart rate spiked, he couldn’t remember who he was. Groped after images, still sweating and now shivering. He had to know who he was, this was ridiculous, he was sleeping in a comfortable bed that was apparently his. Somewhere.

And he was having trouble getting his breath. Inventory, he thought desperately and dry-scrubbed his face with his palms. He was just thickheaded from sleep, that had to be it. He was wearing a singlet and underwear. No socks. There were boots nearby that looked as though they were his. He’d just sit here a moment and try and wake up, and then he’d be all right.

His name kept slipping away from him every time he reached for it. Which was insane. It was his _name_ for God’s sake. And he was starting to shake, which didn’t seem like a good thing.

A door on the far side of the room opened and he shook harder, wrapped his arms around himself to stop it, fingers biting hard into his own upper arms, abruptly chilled with the sweat drying on his skin.

Young man, blond and not quite scruffy, definitely familiar, and then part of the universe shifted back into balance, he _knew_ this man, knew his name, knew the feel and taste of his skin. "Seamus," he said faintly. That was his name, Seamus, Seamus Zelazny Harper, and why he knew that when he still couldn’t retrieve his own name was beyond him, but it was a gift anyway.

Harper looked at him, started to smile and then stopped, stopped smiling and came over to the bed. He reached out instinctively and Harper moved faster, wrapped both arms around him. "Hey, hey, you don’t look good."

He put his face against Harper’s shirt, pulled Harper to stand between his knees. Yes, yes, he knew the scent beneath the fabric, knew the steady thump of Harper’s heartbeat. He just didn’t know anything else.

A hand carded his hair comfortingly. "Dylan, what’s wrong?" 

Worried voice, very soft voice, and he rubbed his cheek against fabric, put his arms around Harper’s waist and just held on. Dylan. Of course, that was his name, Dylan Hunt, he was Lt. Commander Dylan Hunt, Argosy forces, and he still had no fucking clue how he knew Harper, or where and when he was. "I’m, uh, I’m having kind of a bad moment." Weakly.

Harper kept petting his hair. It felt appallingly good. Harper felt appallingly good. "What kind of a bad moment, D?" Softly.

He blinked hard. "A pretty bad moment." Into Harper’s shirt. "I couldn’t--" It might be insanity to trust Harper. It could be some elaborate scheme. He’d done undercover ops before, it wasn’t impossible that he’d been captured and this was a little psychological setup, which was why he had no idea where he was. But _not_ trusting Harper was impossible, he knew the scent of Harper’s skin and the shape of Harper’s body and the taste of Harper’s mouth. He knew the shape of Harper’s soul--volatile, steadfast, wary and loving, feral and mercurial and bedrock loyal. He didn’t know _how_ he knew that, but he trusted his gut. "I’m having a little, um, memory problem. Did I, uh, have a head injury?"

Harper’s hand stilled for a moment, then resumed. "No, not recently. I mean, a few months ago, but not recently. Why?" 

He started to shiver again. "Because until you came in, I couldn’t seem to think of my own name."

Harper’s arm tightened, but Harper drew back a little to look down at him. "But you remember it now. And you remember me?"

"I knew you right away. But I--" It was hard to breathe again, he wanted Harper closer again, but he owed Harper honesty. At least he felt like he did. "Until you said my name, I still couldn’t quite find it."

Harper stared at him, stricken. "Do you remember last night?"

His chest ached. "I think the last thing I remember is--" Images came to mind, but they were jumbled. "I’m not sure. Are we on a ship or a station?"

Harper paled visibly. "Rommie, get to Dylan’s quarters now. We have a problem."

Dylan blinked. "What?"

"Rommie," Harper said and suddenly sat down next to him. "I don’t get why you remember me." 

Panic tightened his gut. "Who’s Rommie?"

"Ship’s AI." Harper put an arm around him. "It’s okay, Dylan, she’ll figure out what we need to do."

"Seamus, I can’t--" His mouth went dry. Ship’s AI. "She’ll have to report this--who’s in command?"

Harper blinked, kissed him. " _You_ are, Dylan." Softly. "No, don’t, please," as he began to shake apart, "Dylan, come on, I’m here, it’s okay, whatever it is, we’ll deal. I mean, jeez, compared to being infested with Magog spawn, this is a piece of cake. Right?"

He stared in horror. "What?"

"Never mind." Harper held on, kissed him again. "Come on, get back under the covers, you’re all gooseflesh. I figured it was time for comfort food, but I didn’t know what your brand of comfort food was, and," thoughtfully, "I’ll bet you don’t know, either."

He let himself be chivvied back into bed, and Harper brought him some pajamas, silky and dark blue, but the inside was soft, brushed fabric, warm against the chill that had invaded his bones. He was in command. He was in command of a ship he didn’t remember, had a lover he remembered, but had no idea of when or where they’d met, how long they’d been lovers-- "Soup," he blurted.

Harper pulled the blankets over him and stuck a pillow behind his head. "Soup?"

"Comfort food." His pulse kept spiking up, and even though he knew it for anxiety, nothing more, it made the panicky sensation in his chest more pronounced.

"Gotcha." Harper sat down and took hold of his hand. "Listen, Dylan. I don’t know what the hell caused it, but you have to trust me. We’ll figure it out." Serious face.

He _did_ trust this face, this man. "I do," he said hoarsely. "I know." But he was scared and it was damned mortifying, he was a soldier, one more fact salvaged from the blank spaces inside his head. Harper started to get up, and he tightened his hold, panicking again. "Don’t leave."

Sweet smile. "I’m not, honest. I’m just going to get you some soup. I’ll be right over there, just for a minute." Harper leaned forward again. "I’m not going to leave you. Maybe not ever. You’ll have to shoot me out an airlock when you get tired of me."

He swallowed hard, his eyes prickled. "The hell." And knew it for simple truth. "When hell freezes over."

Harper’s mouth twitched, but he lifted Dylan’s hand, kissed the knuckles swiftly and then got up. "Any particular soup that sounds really comforting? I brought a lot." Brief grin.

Dylan tried to think. "Any potato soup?" Hazily, with a vague memory of being a child in bed with some ailment or the other.

"Let me look." Harper went back over to the cart that had accompanied him into Dylan’s quarters. "Hey, we got lucky, I’ve got some." He held up a container, grinned. "It’ll just take a minute. Literally."

He was exhausted suddenly. "Good." Thickly, shaky again.

Harper vanished from his line of sight for just a moment, came back with a bottle of something. "Water," he said, sounding apologetic. "I don’t want to mess with alcohol right now, at least not until Rommie shows up and says it’s okay."

Rommie. The AI. He took in a slow breath, let it out as slowly and felt his heart rate slow. Panic wouldn’t do any good for anyone. Especially not for him. He had finally gotten his pulse to something resembling normal when Harper returned with the soup. Just at that moment, the door opened, and he stiffened, watched a slim, dark-haired woman enter his room. 

"What’s the problem, Harper?" A little sharply. "Are you ill, Dylan? You should be on med-deck."

Of course, his pulse spiked again. She knew him; he didn’t recognize her. He made a wordless sound and pushed the soup away, fighting terror and the need to escape.

Harper had it set aside and an arm around him before he could throw the bedclothes back. "It’s okay, Dylan." Urgently. "Don’t, it’s okay. It’s okay."

Harper’s voice penetrated the panic again. He took in another breath, saw the woman frown. No, not a woman, the ship’s avatar. Rommie. 

"Dylan?" She frowned at him. "Harper, what’s wrong? I’m getting panic reaction, increased level of adrenaline--"

"He can’t remember anything." Harper almost snarled at her. "Rommie, just let him talk a minute, okay?"

She closed her mouth. Dylan focused on breathing, on _thinking_ past the fear. It helped that she looked worried. She was concerned for him. He didn’t like that she’d been short with Harper, but he could live with it. And Harper’s hand on the back of his neck steadied him, helped him explain calmly that he had awakened in a kind of fugue state.

"But he knew you?" She even sounded worried. 

"Yeah, go figure." Harper stroked his skin, shifted to sit next to Dylan. "And then he knew his own name. But that’s it, I think." He looked at Dylan in silent query. 

Dylan nodded reluctantly. "At least so far."

"Your blood pressure is elevated," Rommie said slowly. "Certain types of emotional stress generally account for fugue states, but it’s never happened to you before."

"Yeah, but Rommie, look at the last year." Harper looked at Dylan, leaned in closer. "I mean, let’s face it, it’s been pretty fucking eventful, even by High Guard standards, don’t you think? Getting stuck on an event horizon for three hundred years, getting pulled out, fighting Gerentex’s mercs to keep the ship, all on his lonesome, losing his entire life to that singularity." He gave Dylan a sorrowful look. "And then everything since then."

"I’m a soldier," Dylan said, shaken and moved at the same time. "This shouldn’t be happening--a singularity?" The universe reeled briefly. "Three hundred years?" Everything he knew was gone? His stomach rolled queasily. "Three hundred years?"

"See?" Harper looked at Rommie earnestly.

Rommie nodded, her frown back. "I do. I think we should consult with Trance as well, but rest and perhaps some medication to lower his anxiety level."

"I’m still here and more or less in my right mind," Dylan snapped, undone. Three hundred years. God, everything gone, everything gone, and why was he still here?

Harper rubbed the back of his neck again. "Yeah, you are." Softly. "Rommie, don’t talk around him, he’s still Dylan. He’s just forgotten a lot of stuff."

"Fugue state," Rommie said, clearly as unsettled as he’d ever seen an AI. "Rest. I’ll consult with the medical databases and with Trance, but I believe that’s the best treatment for the moment."

Harper looked at Dylan again. Rolled his eyes at Dylan. "Well, great, I could have done that much without you."

She frowned at Harper. 

"I’m in command," Dylan said to Harper, not quite a question.

"Yup." Cheerfully.

"Then go away and let me rest," Dylan told Rommie hoarsely. "If that’s the treatment. Leave me the hell alone."

Rommie looked taken aback. She opened her mouth, looked at Harper and closed it again. Turned and left without another word.

Harper rubbed his neck some more, and he let himself sink back into that. "Soup," Harper said softly. "And then sleep. If you don’t mind company, I’ll slide in with you."

Numbly, Dylan nodded. "Soup," he agreed, but afterward, he couldn’t have described how it tasted. It was hot, at least, which eased the chill, and Harper’s compact self wrapped around him eased it more.

He went back to sleep as if drugged.

  


* * *

Dylan slept a long time. Escape, maybe, he’d done that a time or two once a crisis point had passed and he’d needed to escape and process. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Harper touched soft hair, feeling a vast ache inside. No, not exactly an ache, he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Tenderness, yeah, there was that, and affection and a shade of fear for Dylan, but there was also sadness. It helped ease him over the edge of grief for what Rev had once been to anger that Rev had been a part of what pushed Dylan over the edge to this fugue state thing, and relief that Rev was gone, that Beka was okay.

Dylan was going to be okay, too. He had promised, and he didn’t intend to break that promise. Dylan might have to relearn his past like it was a university course, but he was going to be okay.

There was something about Dylan knowing him, in spite of the fugue, that made his throat hurt, but in a good way. God, and the way Dylan had held on to him, shaking, that trust had undone him, made him fierce with Rommie.

Dylan stirred, peered at him blurrily. "Seamus?"

"Yeah, I’m here." He said it softly. "You doin’ okay?"

"Tired." Dylan’s eyelids were still heavy.

"Rommie came back, left you something to take."

Dylan sighed, closed his eyes again. "What is it?"

"She says it’s to keep the anxiety down, and that will keep your blood pressure down. She says she’s worried about that." He let himself touch Dylan’s hair, and Dylan turned his head into that. Sighed again, but this time it was a comfortable sound. "Trance said it was a good idea."

"Is Trance the medical officer?" Drowsily.

"Kind of." He kept his tone easy, calm. "You were alone on the ship when we pulled it out of the singularity. You sort of recruited us."

"Oh." Dylan closed his eyes again. "Three hundred years." A whisper.

"Yeah." Harper considered whether or not it was necessary to break the news of the Commonwealth’s fall all over again. He hoped not. He really didn’t want to, at least not yet. Maybe he wouldn’t. He’d wait. God, he had to wait. Dylan didn’t need any more stressors, and letting these things come back naturally seemed like the best solution to him. At least until they couldn’t wait any more.

Leaning down, he kissed Dylan’s temple. "Rommie told Beka and Tyr that you were sick, that the stress hammered your immune system, and you got sick with that virus she gave me. Trance is the only one who knows the truth, and she won’t say anything."

Dylan’s eyelids flicked open. "Rommie gave you a virus?" Bewildered. "What the hell for?"

"Genetic therapy. Nanobots wouldn’t work. I’ll explain later, but I’m fine, D." He smiled reassurance. "But it gives us an excuse to keep you away from the others, gives us a chance to let you get your head clear again before you talk to any of them."

Dylan blinked, rubbed his head against Harper’s hand. "I hate this. I hate it."

He could almost feel Dylan’s pulse speed up. "Yeah, I know." Shifting, he stretched out facing Dylan. "I know. But hey, now that I’ve got you locked up in here, I plan on taking advantage of you. Think what a good distraction it’ll be from worrying."

One corner of Dylan’s mouth lifted a little. "Why do I get the feeling that’s a good idea."

"Because you know that The Harper is Good and Can Be Trusted." He rubbed a thumb over Dylan’s lower lip gently. "I haven’t led you astray yet."

Dylan’s expression was so damn vulnerable. "I can’t believe you’re willing to deal with this." Huskily.

"Hey, don’t start." Harper leaned in, replaced his thumb with his lips. Just a gentle kiss. "You’re worth it, believe me."

Dylan put an arm around him, held him there. "You smell good."

"That’s pretty amazing. I figure I need a shower. Wanna keep me company?"

Bittersweet smile. "Of course." Dylan’s expression shifted slightly. "We do that a lot, don’t we?"

His heart thumped hard. "As often as I can lure you in, you bet we do."

This time, the smile wasn’t bitter at all. "Do I have to be lured often?"

"Nah, but I do it, and you let me believe I’m winning, so I feel irresistible." Harper smiled back.

Dylan’s smile reached his eyes this time. "I like the sound of that."

He kissed Dylan again. "Come on, then. I’ll wash your back if you wash mine."

"I like the sound of that, too." The smile faded a little, but Dylan got out of bed, let himself be "lured" into the shower.

"I know you," Dylan whispered, under the hot water. "I don’t know why, but I do."

That made Harper’s heart turn over, he wrapped his arms around Dylan’s waist and stretched up, kissed Dylan soundly. "I don’t know why either, but I’m not complaining. It would have killed me, I think, if you didn’t."

Hard hug. It didn’t quite turn into anything more, but Harper hadn’t really expected it. The level of adrenaline in Dylan’s system had to be pretty fucking high, only not in the good, "coming down from a high" kind of way that frequently led to mind-blowing sex. He figured it was more the bad kind of "make you want to curl up to protect important bits of anatomy" way, so he was a little surprised, back in the bedroom, to have Dylan stop dressing and watch him with something that managed to combine desire, plain ordinary lust, and anxiety all at the same time.

The anxiety made his stomach ache, so he pounced instead of thinking about it. Long sweet kiss, and he pushed Dylan back on the bed, applied himself to making Dylan feel very good indeed. Nothing fancy, just skin to skin and desperate, hungry kisses from Dylan that turned less desperate and hungrier as things proceeded, and Dylan held on like he was drowning when he came, cried out Harper’s name. Harper fell with him, then held on just as tightly, soothing Dylan back from some dangerous edge of emotion until he could feel Dylan’s heartbeat slow.

"I know this," Dylan muttered, drowsy again. "I _know_ this. I know the way you feel, the way you taste, the way you smell." He nuzzled Harper, turned his head blindly for another kiss.

Harper soothed him, touch and nuzzling and soft voice. "I know you do, I know you, too." 

"You feel so good. So real." Dylan shivered suddenly. "Three hundred years."

He wished he hadn’t mentioned that. "Yeah." Rubbed small circles on Dylan’s chest. Hey, it had helped him when Dylan had done it to him, and it appeared that instinct was right on. Dylan slowly relaxed, dozed a little while Harper got dressed and rummaged a meal together. More soup.

At this point, Harper figured Dylan needed all the comfort food Harper could find.

It took some coaxing, but after finishing most of the soup, Dylan took one of the pills that Trance had left for him; the medication only increased the drowsiness, which worried Harper a little, if only because Dylan was sleeping so damn much. That wasn’t like Dylan at all, that escape, although he’d done it himself at times. But Dylan stayed awake, comfortably stretched out on the divan and studying blueprints and specs of the Andromeda. 

Harper interrupted that with heavily edited dossiers of the crew, downloaded to a reader. Sitting up, Dylan took it, studied Tyr’s image expressionally. "I take it the reason that I recruited all of you is that there are no Commonwealth forces in this part of the galaxy."

Harper’s heart thumped hard. He had to start thinking these things through before blurting things out, he told himself, but hell if Dylan wouldn’t have been able to figure some of this out anyway. He might be suffering a fugue, but he wasn’t stupid. "Yeah." Briefly, and he sat down next to Dylan. The wan smile he got in return made his throat ache. 

"He’s Nietzschean," Dylan said, sounding interested. "Not military, though."

"Merc. Assassin. All round nice guy. Which means, you don’t trust him as far as you can throw him." He put his hand on Dylan’s arm, felt the muscles tighten. "But, he does know his stuff, and you keep a good leash on him, he doesn’t try much. Mostly." He couldn’t help but think of Tyr’s attempted double-cross with the Orca pride. That had backfired badly on Tyr.

Dylan nodded, and his eyes narrowed as he studied Tyr’s data. "I don’t understand why he’s still on board." Bluntly. "I should access my logs. I must have a reason."

"He thinks you need him. I guess we do, some. He’s made some useful contacts with other Nietzscheans." Reluctantly. "And he’s a good fighter, a good strategist. I’m just an engineer, but it seems that way to me, anyway. But Beka’s your first officer."

Dylan nodded, flipped to Beka’s sheet. "Salvage?" His mouth curved a little. "That’s interesting. And you were part of her crew?"

Harper nodded.

Flipping back to Tyr, Dylan studied the data again. "I want him under constant surveillance." Surprisingly crisp for a guy on meds who couldn’t remember the most recent bits of his life.

Harper eyed him. "Um, he is, you already logged that order to Rommie, not that I’m supposed to know exactly. I found it accidentally. And you keep your logs locked up under a security code. I can try and hack in if you want, but you’d have to change it again, then."

That got him a long, level look, a sort of measuring look. "Accidentally." 

Oh. Shit. "When the whole backup thing happened--I’ll explain that later."

Another moment of that stranger looking at him through Dylan’s eyes and then the moment was gone. Dylan put the flexies down wearily and rubbed his forehead. "This damn headache."

A little unnerved, Harper nodded. "Maybe you should get some rest." 

Another wan smile. "That’s all I’m doing is resting." 

"But you need it, Trance says." Harper’s throat ached suddenly. "You’ve been going nonstop since--well, for a long time now. She thinks that might be part of this."

Dylan sighed. "I’ll rest if you will. You look just as tired."

Harper shrugged. "Well, I just got over surgery." Smiled a little when Dylan’s eyes widened. "I’m fine, honest, I’m more worried about you. But you want me, you got me." 

Sweet smile. He sometimes wondered if he was the only one who saw that smile of Dylan’s. Well, nowadays, anyway. It was too bad, too, because it was a terrific smile. Leaning in, he kissed it. "Headache really bad? I can ask Trance for something."

Dylan grimaced. "It’s like my head’s in a vise. Maybe some sleep will help, I really don’t want to take anything else, I feel groggy enough right now."

Harper nodded. "Okay, nap then. Here or over there?" He pointed at the bed.

That smile again. "Over there. Just in case."

Harper didn’t get it for a minute, then grinned. "Just in case?"

"Endorphins," Dylan said solemnly.

Whatever this fugue was, it obviously hadn’t destroyed Dylan’s sense of play. Which was reassuring, because that crisp, clipped stranger was even scarier than Dylan aiming a force lance at his chest. 

A lot scarier.

  


* * *

//....Magog everywhere, and he can’t tell precisely where he is. No, wait, he’s in one of the twisting, turning tunnels on one of the Magog worlds, looking for Harper and Tyr. Rommie is just ahead, and he follows her into an alcove, stops dead at the sight of his entire crew laid out on stone slabs.

Beka and Trance--oh, god, already dead, already dead. Tyr seems only to be asleep, but Harper tosses his head, lost in feverish pain and nightmare. He limps to Harper’s side, puts a hand on Harper’s cheek. "Harper," he says, "Harper, wake up, I’ve come to get you out of here."

Harper opens his eyes, arches up in sudden, violent agony, and his belly distends before Dylan’s eyes. "No!" He puts his hands on Harper’s belly, willing this not to be, but will isn’t enough, the skin and flesh beneath his palms splits, bleeds and Harper screams....

He can’t stop it, the Magog tear themselves free of Harper’s flesh, and he can’t stop it, can’t stop the bleeding. "Rommie, help me!"

Rommie stands and watches dispassionately. "It’s too late, Dylan."

"No!" He’s trying to stop the bleeding, even as Harper’s gaze fixes on him. "There’s got to be a way--"

"You promised." A dying whisper, full of accusation and Harper’s eyes reflect that betrayal. "You promised."

The blood stopped pulsing and he felt rage and grief combine into a howl that tore free of his chest....//

"Dylan!" Harper’s voice was thick with sleep, but terrified anyway. "Dylan, hey, come on, wake up, wake up."

He was sitting upright in his bed, in his quarters, and still, still couldn’t shake free of the dream, of the tunnels, and he knew very well _when_ he was despite this, despite the fact that he had to, had to push Harper down and check him. Warm smooth skin under his cheek and his face was wet, and he held on, fractured in bits. "You were dead." Brokenly.

Harper’s fingers curled in his hair. "I’m not dead." Bewildered. 

"You were dead. I didn’t get there in time." He knew how insane it was even as he said it. "Tyr was the only one left, and Rommie wouldn’t help me save you."

"Dylan, Dylan, nobody’s dead." Harper’s voice was worried. "I’m okay."

He knew that in the part of his mind that was still rational. Closing his eyes, he shifted, listened to the steady sound of Harper’s heartbeat. A little fast, maybe, but since he’d probably just scared Harper out of several years of life, that was probably to be expected. "So am I." Except that he kept seeing the dream images behind his eyelids.

Harper was carding his hair and Harper’s heart rate slowed. "Just a nightmare." Soothingly. "That’s all, just a nightmare."

He kept listening to Harper’s heart. "A nightmare," he agreed, but finally the adrenaline of grief and terror ebbed, leaving him sleepy again. "Bad couple of days."

Harper’s fingers stilled briefly. "Hey, does that mean you remember them?" 

Dylan grimaced. "Yeah. Including the fact that I didn’t remember them before."

"Well, it was a bad couple of days." Harper resumed his petting of Dylan’s hair, sighed. "Beka’s okay, Dylan, and I’m okay, and now you’re okay."

He considered that. "We’re mostly okay," he said quietly. "All the way okay may take a little while."

Harper tugged at him until he shifted upward, leaned in and kissed him. "Yeah, well, that’s life, right?"

He smiled, a little drowsily. "I’m afraid so." Fortunately, his life included Harper, included a good, if unconventional crew, and maybe he would someday have to go head to head with Tyr, but it didn’t matter. He owed Tyr a little slack, if only because Tyr had acted quickly enough to save Beka from worse injury. Or infestation.

And maybe he could forgive himself someday for not being quick enough, for underestimating Rev’s increasing derangement.

"I’m tired," he confessed.

"Good. Go back to sleep." Harper smiled at him sweetly, affectionately. "Hey, I’m glad you’re back."

"I still knew you," he murmured and wrapped an arm over Harper. Put his palm on Harper’s undamaged belly as another dream image flickered. "You’re alive."

"Still breathing," Harper agreed seriously.

Thank god. He could deal with anything else tomorrow.

  


* * *

Dylan seemed disinclined to get up when he woke again, so Harper just lay in bed with him, nuzzling and nibbling until Dylan figured out that sleep wasn’t on Harper’s agenda. One thing about Dylan, he was a quick study; he rolled Harper over on his back and soundly kissed him in turn. Harper nearly purred; he was all in favor of that, definitely, definitely, but he was taking charge. He lured Dylan into further kisses and flipped Dylan over at a moment of distraction to straddle him. Smirked down at his captive. "Good morning."  
  
Dylan smiled up at him, warm and apparently untroubled. At least for the moment. "Good morning, yourself."  
  
Harper hadn’t forgotten Dylan’s nightmare; maybe a little play was the antidote. So, he smoothed his palms over Dylan’s chest, partly with serious intent, and partly just because he could. "Wow, look what I have, my very own High Guard captain."  
  
Dylan’s eyes glinted briefly, and his smile didn’t waver. "To do with as you will?"  
  
"That too," Harper agreed and leaned down to nibble on Dylan’s throat. "You know, you taste really good."  
  
Dylan tilted his chin back to encourage Harper, put both arms around Harper and seemed intent on memorizing Harper’s shape. Or maybe just the rhythm of his heartbeat. Thus encouraged, Harper moved up to just under Dylan’s ear, and then moved back down to the crook of Dylan’s shoulder. "Here, too."  
  
"Maybe it’s a fluke," Dylan said huskily, "You know, just those spots."  
  
Harper smiled against Dylan’s skin. "I should check," he agreed and did just that. Dylan shifted underneath him, hissed a little in pleasure as Harper teased a nipple. Harper hummed and moved across Dylan’s chest in small increments to tease the other nipple, and one of Dylan’s hands cupped the back of his head, carded through Harper’s hair.  
  
Oh, yeah, they were _both_ alive, and Beka and Trance and Tyr were alive, and even if he grieved for the Rev Bem who had once been, he was guiltily relieved that the most recent Rev Bem was dead. Right now he couldn’t think of a nicer way to celebrate, or a better way to remind Dylan that it was true.  
  
Briefly, he put his ear to Dylan’s chest, listened happily to the thump of Dylan’s heart before nibbling at the inside of Dylan’s elbow, which got an entirely unexpected and satisfying shiver. Inside of the elbow, who knew? Lovely, lovely shiver, and he moved back to Dylan’s hip, cupped a hand over Dylan’s thickening cock, teasing a little. Dylan groaned when Harper’s tongue stroked over the flat of his hip, raised his head to give Harper a long, smoldering look. 

Okay, maybe he wasn’t in the mood for teasing either; he stroked Dylan’s cock with fingers and tongue, took it into his mouth. Thick and hot and Dylan groaned, holding still as if he feared he was going to hurt Harper. That wouldn’t do, not at all, and he took Dylan in deeper, used his tongue and fingers and lips to make Dylan forget any need to be careful. Oh, yeah, that was the way, and Dylan arched up, fingers knotting the sheets.  
  
Of course, Dylan being Dylan, he upped the ante, a brief struggle and then Harper gasped around Dylan’s flesh as the favor was returned. Okay, so it took a little more work, given the height difference, but hey, he could dance to reciprocal action, oh, could he ever. Spiral of pleasure, even of competition, and he was _still_ in charge, pushing Dylan over the edge before he fell himself, almost laughing as pleasure whited out his ability to think.  
  
Languid touches after, and he snaked around to lick his own taste out of Dylan’s mouth and vice versa. "I was right. You taste really, really good."  
  
Dylan made a sound like a purr. "So do you."  
  
A little more self-congratulatory making out and then he rolled out of bed, tugged at Dylan’s hand. "Shower."  
  
Dylan nodded absently, sat up and rubbed his chin. "How’s Beka?"  
  
"Great. Up and around and riding herd on Tyr." Harper tugged again. "You can check on her when you’re dressed."  
  
Dylan looked down at himself, smirked. "You don’t think I should check on her like this?"  
  
"I’m a possessive git." Harper narrowed his eyes. "You’d better not."  
  
Dylan’s grin was wicked. "I’ll have to remember that."  
  
"You’d better." But he got a kiss anyway on the way into the shower.

  


* * *

Harper’s pre-emptive strike had eased some of the chill left by the nightmare, Dylan found. A shared breakfast and listening to Harper’s list of repairs and upgrades helped further, settling his anxiety back to little more than an occasional twitch. By the time they left quarters, Dylan felt as close to normal as he could expect, considering he’d been unable to remember his name only a little more than twenty-four hours earlier.  
  
Beka was on command deck when Dylan got there, which lent his memory of her on med-deck a surreal quality more in keeping with his nightmare. As he got closer, he could see the faint pink lines of fused skin where Rev’s claws had raked her and had to swallow hard. Harper hovered as unobtrusively as possible, even after Dylan had offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Tyr frowned, and Beka gave him a long assessing look before smiling in welcome.  
  
"Are you all right?" they both asked at the same time.  
  
He felt his face get hot, passed it off with a vague gesture. "Fine, I’m fine. You?" To Beka.  
  
She gave him another long look. "I’m as fine as I can be, Dylan. I feel like I let Rev down, not seeing what was happening to him. And all of the rest of us, because he came pretty close to getting Harper, too."  
  
Harper’s head swiveled. "Beka, he didn’t--"  
  
"Shut up, Harper," she said without looking at him. "And I would imagine if _I_ feel that way, you’re probably blaming yourself for the whole thing."  
  
Dylan smiled humourlessly. "I recruited you all."  
  
"And the galaxy spins around the galactic core," Tyr said idly and glanced over at them both. "Is that your doing as well?"  
  
"It’s hers," Dylan said promptly.  
  
Beka grinned and shook her head. "That’s right, Dylan can’t be blamed for everything."  
  
"You can blame him for me," Harper said brightly. "After all he came up with the idea of the whole virus thing."  
  
"Don’t tempt me," Tyr muttered and Beka’s eyes narrowed.  
  
"I guess we have to blame you on Trance," she said, nearly purring. "That does it, she goes, Dylan."  
  
Dylan couldn’t help laughing. "But she keeps hydroponics running, Beka. Surely that’s a fair trade."  
  
Tyr gave them both a haughty look and went back to whatever he was working on.  
  
"I don’t know," Beka said, eyeing his back. "I’ll have to keep it in mind."  
  
Dylan was keeping it in mind himself. Trance was no less an enigma than she had been, and it seemed odd that she hadn’t warned them about Rev’s deterioration. 

Beka’s fingers closed around his forearm briefly, squeezed hard. "We’re all right," she said softly, fiercely. "And right now, I think that’s good enough."

He looked back into her eyes, saw her determination to make it good enough, nodded slowly. It didn’t change anything, not really, but it made it easier to live with his failures. And, he thought suddenly, looking aside at Harper, his successes. Their successes. "Anything I should know about before you go off-shift?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.  
  
Beka smiled, relieved. "Oh, yeah, we’ve had some interesting correspondence from Sintii, and hey, the Castalians sent an invitation to their presidential inauguration."  
  
Back to business as usual, only with the added urgency of what lay ahead. Dylan glanced back at Harper, smiled again, and this time the reassurance took. Harper grinned back and went to his console. "I don’t know, Beka, our luck with Castalian presidents hasn’t been outstanding."  
  
"True," Beka agreed, and patted his arm. "But look at it this way, Dylan, isn’t our luck due to change?"  
  
"I’ll take it under advisement," he said drily, then, "Beka, I’m sorry."  
  
Her eyes got a little bright. "Not your fault, Dylan. And if it is, then it belongs to both of us."  
  
Dylan shook his head. "I mean for--" He waved his hand vaguely, trying to remember what excuse Trance had given for his absence.  
  
Beka’s eyes widened. "Only you would think it was necessary to apologize for being wiped out," she said drily. "Gee, it’s not like we’ve been through anything in the last few months, right?"  
  
Dylan opened his mouth, closed it. Glanced at Harper and saw the corner of Harper’s mouth twitch. "Point taken."  
  
Beka grinned again. "Good. Keep that in mind, too."  
  
"I’ll do my best," he said.  
  
"So, business as usual," she said cheerfully, taking his thought as her own. "The Commonwealth, the Castalians, and the Perseids. What’s first on the agenda?"  
  
Dylan couldn’t help laughing again. "All three. But I think we’ll deal with the Perseids first." He looked around the bridge, took in a deep breath and let go of guilt and that conviction of failure. If he’d failed, he’d failed. He had to do better in their future, that was all.  
  
Beka was right. The fact that they were all right had to be good enough. He would make certain of it.  
  
And he couldn’t do it alone. "Rommie, let’s set a course for Sintii."  
  
"Aye, Captain," Rommie said.  
  
He stole a quick look over at Harper, who gave him a mock salute and a grin. Smiled in return and nodded at Tyr and Beka.

Not even sixty days since they’d fled from the Magog world ship. Not even sixty days since they’d survived, however improbably, a nova. Less than a week since Harper had been freed of the dead or dying Magog spawn, and a little more than twenty-four hours since Beka had come close to death. They’d lost Rev, but perhaps they’d lost him on the world ship even if they hadn’t known it.

"All ahead full, Rommie," he said, and it seemed as good a metaphor for life as any.

***THE END***


End file.
